I hate having clinical depression. And, yes, I’ve got it. And most likely, Aspeger’s Syndrome, which is like being autistic except being able to function in society. Actually, it’s exactly like that, because that’s what it is. Oh, and I also suffer mood disorders to the level that my psychologist believes I suffer low-level bi-polarism. So, yeah, my brain’s fucked up. I’ve read the blogs of a few other full-time slaves, and a lot of them suffer similar problems. Am I saying that you have to be screwed in the head to be a slave? No, not at all. But I do think that people who have problems dealing with the complexities of life sometimes find solace in being able to give control to somebody they trust.
Depression sucks. Imagine walking down the street and suddenly tasting extremely strong espresso while you’re eating a hamburger. Or hearing the clash of cymbals while listening to a violin concerto. Today I was feeling wonderful about life, and I was thinking of how I’m blessed in so many ways – and I suddenly started feeling overwhelmingly sad and burst into tears, and felt that way for a long time.
It also hit last night … which sucked big time. Mistress knows how much I’ve been wanting to get tied up, but she hasn’t done it in earnest, and so last night she decided to give me a treat. She tied my hands to my knees with me lying in bed, and then tied my wrists together so I couldn’t move, and proceeded to take a dildo to my vagina and a vibrator to my clit and ... I didn’t enjoy it because I had been suffering a low-level depression all day. Being tied up and lightly tortured is supposed to be a weird release based around the discomfort being turned into a thrill, but ... my depression kept that from happening, and instead I started crying. And the fact I didn’t enjoy what Mistress did for me greatly disappointed her, and the fact I wasn't enjoying it pissed the hell out of me because I had been wanting for a long time for Mistress to tie me up, and the fact that it happened on a night I wasn't emotionally stable made me even more depressed. Mistress says she’ll tie me up again someday here, but she doesn’t know when. *sighs*
Asperger’s causes me to feel incredibly confused and scared when I’m in a situation that’s overly chaotic, and as a result I feel like running away and hiding. And if I can’t run away, I get all upset and angry. Basic fight or flight syndrome exhibited by a wild animal in a tense situation. And being bi-polar shifts me up and down without control.
Mistress knew all that about me when she collared me. And she took me in anyway. Which is why, despite the problems we may have, I love her dearly.
And, yes, we do have problems. Definitely.
For example, today Mistress reminded me that I’ll need to pay my half of the rent soon. As things are, I pay for the cable and Internet bills, half the rent and another $75 for storage space away from the house. Mistress pays for heating, water and half the rent. And yet, my possessions take up only a small fraction of the house – a few boxes in the garage and a few boxes in an upstairs room. And I have pretty much no say regarding finances or any of the big matters, such as the fact we moved out of the old house into this townhome. Plus, as a slave, I’m doing most of the chores around the house, and I provide Mistress with sexual pleasure whenever she desires. We’re both on unemployment, but Mistress is able to work odd jobs for extra cash here and there, while I can’t. Even more, my duties as a slave sometimes get a little in the way of my search for employment.
Do I feel like my submissiveness and slave heart are being exploited? Yes, sometimes I do. Maybe.
In a non-fiction book entitled, “Separating Fact from Fiction: The Life of a Consensual Slave in the 21st Century” By Shannon Reilly, she says, “As equals, the members of a consensual slavery relationship will exchange power with each other, giving and taking that power in a constant flow. Power is neither created nor destroyed in power exchange relationships. Rather two equals remain equal while power flows between them.”
Mistress controls my life to a large degree. Not as much as I want, but she does impart control. And she takes responsibility for me, taking care of my needs. I’d prefer the relationship was much stronger, in that I could totally give up myself and almost all control in exchange for being able to be nothing but a slave almost all the time. Mistress, however, doesn’t want that. She told me tonight she still struggles with the word “slave” (despite all the talks we had a month ago), and she doesn’t think we’ll ever be in a situation where she’ll support me financially. *sighs* Such is life. Mistress is the best Owner I’ve found, and the only one where the mutual attraction has been strong enough to result in us living together, so I should count my blessings, without a doubt. There might be a better Owner out there for me, and there might be a better slave out there for Mistress. But, for now, we’re going to try our darn best to make this work for as long as possible. The way Mistress puts it, she and I satisfy each other’s needs, and that’s why things work. I hope so.
For a while today I was confused about Mistress, because she seemed to be both too much of a sadist and too concerned with not hurting me at the same time. Communication solved the puzzle. The answer was simple. See, she loves to pinch my nipples really hard until I cringe, and she loves to spank me unexpectedly. Yet, last night, when she tied me up for fun (as I mentioned earlier), she started to ram a silicon dildo in my pussy, but wouldn’t do it for fear of hurting me. And when my arms started getting a little sore when I was tied up the other day (for the benefit of the couple that had visited), she immediately untied me, even though I didn’t want her to. She said the difference is that with nipple pinches and spanking, she knows she won’t do permanent damage. It’s “known territory.” But with thrusting large things into my genitalia or potentially hurting my arm muscles, she said it’s “unknown territory” in which she’s afraid of causing actual damage to her property. So Mistress is a bit of a sadist, but she’s a caring one, in that she wants to keep her property safe and in good shape. Which is perfectly fine with me. *grins*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I’m not automotive savvy, I hate to say. Mistress got me hooked up with a male friend who said he could fix my car for cheap. Well, turns out one of the belts was broken, and he replaced it and another that was frayed for $25 plus the cost of the belts. It was a great deal ... except suddenly I don’t have power steering, and I had had it before he started working on it.
Mistress just got off the phone with him. She knows cars pretty well, and she was able to talk shop with him. She can’t think of anything he could have done wrong, but she’s going to look under my hood to check his work tomorrow. I just know I have my car working again, but it’s suddenly hard as hell to turn the wheel, and I don’t trust the abilities of Mistress’s friend. Whatever the case, Mistress said she’ll deal with it.
Mistress had car problems of her own today and called to me for help. She rear-ended a pickup, which bent up the fender of her own pickup like crazy and hardly damaged the other person’s truck. She was so shaken up afterward she couldn’t drive, and she was a half hour from home. She called me first and then called her Master, and her Master happened to respond first, and he agreed to take her home, and she asked me to drive down and move her car somewhere safe. I decided she really needed something to calm her down, and I made an Irish coffee (whiskey, hot cream, sugar and coffee) and started driving down to see her. Half-way there she called and said her Master would handle everything, but she did gladly imbibe the hot toddy when she got home tonight, and she’s feeling quite relaxed at the moment, so I figure I did my proper duties as best I could. *shrugs and slightly grins*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One a final note about money, a couple of nice things happened the last few days.
Today I was in the supermarket and I bought a cooked chicken for dinner for five bucks. Then when I checked out, I realized to my frustration that I had left my money wallet at home and so it wasn’t in my purse, and I had to tell the clerk to void the sale. Well, an extremely nice man who was a total stranger overheard the conversation, and he asked what happened, and he very generously pulled a five-dollar bill out of his billfold and said he’d pay for my purchase. Talk about shock on my part! I was extremely grateful and told him I’d pay it forward and return the good deed to somebody else, and he just told me with a smile not to worry about it!
And last weekend I wrote to the makers of the blond marionette I have and told them I was working on a play that I want to perform for kids in the community at libraries and schools, and they wrote me back and told me they would sell me any of their marionettes at wholesale prices, which is truly a great deal!
Oh, yeah ... I’m working on a play! In the back of a great little book on creating marionettes (“Marionettes: How to Make and Work Them” by Helen Fling) is a quite simple and quite short puppet play, and I liked it so much I’ve been working on enhancing it into a complete one-person production. I’ll need to create some backdrops and the puppet stage along with finishing up writing the play, but I was concerned about making the necessary marionettes, and now that I can get six great storybook marionettes professionally made for cheap, I’m pretty darn happy about the whole thing!
And that’s how I’m going to try and pay things forward ... by writing and performing a marionette play for local children that not only encourages environmental awareness but also has a strong, brave, smart heroine. Wish me luck!
~~~~~~~~~~~
Before I sign out today, I wanted to mention a well-written blog by another live-in consensual slave, entited: Diary of a Contented BDSM Slave. I made a posting there today in response to her feelings of unease at how her Master took care of her physically when she was recently sick in bed. Here’s a snippet of what I wrote:
It's not easy being taken care of, indeed. I've known of more than one Master/slave relationship that fell apart because the Master truly enjoyed doing certain "chores" (such as cooking gourmet meals), and the slave felt indignation at seeing her Owner doing things for her that she felt she should be doing for him.
It all comes down to communication in the end. Sometimes, truly, the best way to serve is to allow yourself to be served.
When a Master serves his slave, he's not being less dominant in any way. He's likely being warm and loving. And he's also likely taking care of his property, as others have said.
If one's Master spent hours carefully polishing a beautiful sculpture, or repairing it should a piece fall off, is that being submissive? No, of course not. He's simply doing maintenance on his property.
And taking care of you when you're sick is him doing maintenance on you, his slave.
I pray that you get well soon, my sister. You'll be in our thoughts.
La kajira!
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Day 50 - On Being a Toy, Meeting the Evergreen Man, K-8 and Mistress's Master, and Watching "Sita Sings the Blues"
A conscious object.
A coin-operated girl.
A toy in a human body.
That’s me.
I’ve known that for a very long time in my heart, and I came to realize it yesterday in my mind. So did Mistress.
Mistress and I spent yesterday at the home of the man in Evergreen (the one who writes poetry and enjoys being humiliated by being forced to dress up as a woman).
I’ll be quick to admit I was rather unfair in my previous bias against him. He’s a very nice, considerate, insightful and extremely intelligent man. He’s extremely driven in ways I couldn’t dream of. For example, he began working in software as a teenager and graduated from college with an English degree at age 19, immediately becoming a high-school teacher (with some students actually older than he was that first year). He reads voraciously and is particularly fascinated with Hinduism, world religions and the cosmology of the physical universe.
He and Mistress got along perfectly. For most of the time we were there, I was either working in the kitchen or kneeling on the floor while he and Mistress discussed topics that were largely beyond my fields of knowledge.
I’m no dummy. I loved science in high school, and I was tested by Mensa (the high-IQ society) with a result that put me in the 99th percentile (making me a member for life). When I was a journalist, I would be the one everybody would turn to as the “walking encyclopedia” who knew tons of trivial about the most esoteric subjects. But something’s happened to me the last decade. In particular, since I discovered therianthropy. And I feel as if my brain is rational brain is shrinking, gradually being replaced by a mind that lives on instincts and hunches.
My wolf spirit.
But I digress. Suffice to say that Mistress and the Evergreen man seriously hit it off, although in a purely platonic way. As Mistress said last night, if that man is going to play with anybody, it’ll be me. But I don’t think he will. I got the strong feeling that once he understood my slave heart isn’t a fetish, but is instead who I truly am, he relegated me to the floor, as if I’m an underling. At times I would ask a question while hearing their conversation and he would ignore me. He never asked my opinion about anything. I was a slave, and I was treated as such, with all of his attention and respect going to my Owner.
And that’s how it should be. I applaud him for that, even if it means he and I will likely never wind up together for anything more than a one-night stand.
The Evergreen man’s house was huge and beautifully rustic, nestled in a mountain forest with a view that would take your breath away. His neighbors include Johnny Depp and Arnold Schwarzenegger (both of who have summer homes there). The drive to get to his house was rather long, convoluted and, at the end, extremely bumpy along a rocky rutted road, with us being happy we went up there in Mistress’s pickup truck instead of my Toyota sedan.
The man was equally impressive. He took part protesting in favor of gay-rights in Chicago as a teenager. Among his many fields of expertise is BDSM, and he was heavily involved in the Chicago community, and he became a counselor of sorts, helping people overcome psychological issues through applied bondage, pain, sex and the like.
Yet despite his experiences, I was a mystery to him. After dinner, he questioned me in an attempt to determine what makes me tick. What turns me on. He couldn’t figure me out because I’m not into this for humiliation or pain. I’m into it for the slavery, and he couldn’t see that as an end in itself.
He left the question hanging and began talking about some of his “patients,” and he mentioned how some women who felt too much in control of their situation would find they couldn’t orgasm easily, but would instead become detached. Those women, he said, would need to be put into situations (consensually, of course) where they wouldn’t know what was coming, such as being blindfolded and made to endure first cold play (with ice cubes on sensitive areas) followed by hot play (with melted wax). The man said some women he encountered consensually took part in very serious rape-oriented play, in which they would wear a band around their arm to parties, which would signal that anybody at the party could force them into having sex. Some went so far as to struggle, with the desire to be slapped or even beaten into submission. In one instance, he was the one who did the beating and raping, to my understanding. He wasn’t thrilled with doing it, but he took part nonetheless.
While he was talking, things started clicking together in my mind, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle finally locking into place.
I could answer his question regarding what turns me on.
To be treated as a toy. An object. A possession. Non-human.
I indicated to the man that I had his answer, but although he acknowledged that I wanted to speak, he didn’t let me for some time, instead making me wait until he and Mistress were sufficiently through with their conversation. And that was perfectly fine with me (even if a little frustrating) because it fit my true role in life.
After I started talking, though, both the man and Mistress became rather interested, and they completely agreed with me. And Mistress and the man both said they now know exactly how to treat me.
Pretty much every piece of the puzzle has already been mentioned in my previous postings in this blog.
Among the puzzle pieces are:
I’m fixated with Gor in a way I can’t shake. I was in Gor for years, serving Owners both online and in real life. I long to return, but Mistress won’t let me because she feels it would be detrimental. In Gor, the women are truly slaves against their will, liable to being killed or sold at the whim of their Owner for the slightest failure, sign of disrespect or act of obedience.
I long to be a wooden ballerina marionette, and I fantasize about it often whenever I’m sad. I was one in SecondLife for months, and I returned to it recently for a brief visit. Whenever I see puppets, I feel a connection and a wish to be with them, just a toy on strings, existing for no reason but to give joy, purely at the whim of my Owner.
As previously noted, I orgasmed 20 times in a single hour when Mistress’s Master took me to the porn theatre and allowed the men there to use me. He never once asked permission.
Possibly the most powerful orgasm I’ve ever had was when a potential Master in Colorado Springs inflicted very powerful pain on me while also intensely playing with my clit and breasts. He never asked for permission.
I love bondage with a passion. I love to be tied up and gagged and left with no recourse, no way out, existing only as a plaything.
I’ve fantasized for years, masturbating every day (sometimes multiple times) about being transformed into a vinyl inflatable fuck doll. In a typical fantasy, I’m sold or given to somebody who has no idea I was once human. Instead, I’m treated as nothing more than an inanimate object, with the purpose of being fucked then deflated until brought out to be fucked again.
And so on.
Despite it all, I have a shred of self-preservation. Which is why I was so upset when I was collared by Mistress’s Master. I knew if I allowed my mind and heart to be owned by him, he would abuse me immensely without any reciprocation to me.
I’m a toy. And as a toy, isn’t it right that I seek an Owner who would love me? An Owner that would treat me as a toy, but as a cherished one?
I have to admit I don’t know why I’m this way. But that’s what I am. And Mistress and the Evergreen man saw it without a doubt.
And last night, after that conversation, the Evergreen man wrapped me tightly in a long corset that extended past my crotch (he called it a “bondage corset”), then he cuffed my hands behind my back.
And Mistress called me her doll. And the man called me an object.
And I melted inside.
I started singing “Coin-Operated Boy” (a fantastic song by the Dresden Dolls that Mistress introduced me to recently), but I changed the words and created my own lyrics to a song I called, “Coin-Operated Girl.” It’s me. Really me. And I love it. *bounces gently*
I like the Evergreen man a lot. But, despite his wealth and resources, he isn’t Mistress. And I love her very much. Oh, I believe I could love the Evergreen man as well. But he came a bit too late.
We likely won’t be seeing him much as he’s often out of town on business, and the drive to his place took around two hours. Still, though, it was fun enough that eventually we’ll make it out there again … or he can come see us.
One wonderful side benefit of his Hinduism was he showed us a fantastic movie called “Sita Sings the Blues.” It’s a reverently irreverent animated telling of the part of the Ramayana that deals with Rama’s relationship with Sita. It’s written by a woman and is quite funny while telling things from Sita’s point of view with great old music. The creator has released it for downloading free online at Sita Sings the Blues . Do yourself a favor and watch it soon!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By the way, I lifted the term “conscious object” from an incredible blog entitled: The Thoughts of a Conscious Object . The author, known as “K-8”, has been posting regularly for years about her fixation with the idea of becoming a sentient object. There’s a whole subculture devoted to this, which includes numerous art and stories and discussions. (FYI, the subculture is called “ASFR”, which relates back to old pre-internet days when the stories were listed in a news group called “alt.sex.fetish.robots”). I’ve been fascinated by the subculture for a very long time and have read almost every story out on the Web about the topic, despite the fact that many are rather creepy, in that the person who is transformed does not want to be transformed. *shrugs*
To my total surprise, I met “K-8” in SecondLife a couple of days ago (she’s known as “Kate Battery” there). When I realized it was her, I completely embarrassed myself by behaving like a blushing teenage fangirl, and I don’t think an intelligent word was uttered on my part. Hopefully, the next time I meet her (should I be fortunate enough to do so), I’ll be able to have a better conversation.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mistress’s Master came over today by surprise. Well, he gave some warning.
I’ve realized why I don’t like Mistress’s Master. He takes people’s good traits (like compassion and tenderness) and selfishly exploits them.
Mistress loves him deeply, even though she is very bothered by the fact her Master is cheating on his wife and, as a result, nothing long-term will ever come of the relationship. Mistress keeps telling me that she feels she and her Master will break up soon, but it seems yet to happen.
Mistress’s Master treats her like Mistress treats me. Today, for instance, he brought over a married couple and had Mistress suck his cock while they watched. He humiliates Mistress, uses her without concern for her desires and uses her to no end. He treats her as a slave. The problem is that Mistress doesn’t want to be treated like that, but she allows it because she loves him so much. In contrast, I want to be treated like that (as a slave, that is, without being asked for my input). Mistress is pretty much at her limits with her Master, in that it’s doubtful anybody could push her further than he does. I, however, am far from my limits with Mistress, and somebody (like her Master) could seriously hurt and abuse me if I let them get their hooks into me. I came pretty close to doing something pretty bad – I almost signed over power of attorney to a Master and Mistress in Colorado Springs – but I was stopped by my Mistress at the time, who refused to let them own me without them agreeing to a contract approved by her. That contract was a deal breaker, and I’m glad. Anyway, Mistress is hurt by how her Master treats her, and I’m blessed by how my Mistress treats me, yet we’re treated the same way. The difference is, of course, that Mistress loves me, and Mistress’s Master doesn’t love her. Such is life.
Mistress told me to expect to suck her Master’s cock, but fortunately, that didn’t happen. What did happen was I was stripped naked (except for my panties) for her Master (who occasionally groped my breasts), then tied up with skilled finesse by Mistress. My breasts were bound, my wrists were tied behind my back, and my ankles here tied together so I could hardly move. Well, hardly for some people, as I could still dance, spin around and kneel fluidly (which Mistress found amusing). After the couple arrived, I was told to stay in the living room while they all went to Mistress’s bedroom to play. I never found out exactly what happened except that the married woman was crying at the end and was rather uncomfortable with the events, and she was likely convinced against her wishes to try out BDSM today. Sounds like her husband and Mistress’s Master share a like mind in a few ways.
While they were all in there I decided to make good use of the fact that Mistress had untied my hands, and I made a plate of hor d'oeuvres using what little we had at the new house – which turned up to be little tuna-salad sandwiches and pickles arranged in a sunburst wheel around a small bowl of spicy dip. I had hoped to impress everybody because I was thoroughly pissed at myself. I was supposed to be in high protocol during the visit, but at one point when Mistress was trying to help me to my feet she slightly wrenched my arm by accident, and I corrected her by quietly saying I could get up better by myself and said she hurt me while doing so. I was embarrassed beyond belief that I had blurted out my thoughts like that, but nobody seemed to mind. Afterward, Mistress saw my inner turmoil and, to help me, she punished me by slapping my breasts and face around painfully, and that actually did help. Anyway, although I had hoped to further make up for that with the food plate, nobody ate it but Mistress and me, although people saw it, and Mistress was happy with it. And that was enough for me. *grins*
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mistress wants to head out for dinner, so I’d better post this before it turns into a novel. Hopefully I didn’t make too many typos, as I’m posting it without proofreading it. La kajira!!!
A coin-operated girl.
A toy in a human body.
That’s me.
I’ve known that for a very long time in my heart, and I came to realize it yesterday in my mind. So did Mistress.
Mistress and I spent yesterday at the home of the man in Evergreen (the one who writes poetry and enjoys being humiliated by being forced to dress up as a woman).
I’ll be quick to admit I was rather unfair in my previous bias against him. He’s a very nice, considerate, insightful and extremely intelligent man. He’s extremely driven in ways I couldn’t dream of. For example, he began working in software as a teenager and graduated from college with an English degree at age 19, immediately becoming a high-school teacher (with some students actually older than he was that first year). He reads voraciously and is particularly fascinated with Hinduism, world religions and the cosmology of the physical universe.
He and Mistress got along perfectly. For most of the time we were there, I was either working in the kitchen or kneeling on the floor while he and Mistress discussed topics that were largely beyond my fields of knowledge.
I’m no dummy. I loved science in high school, and I was tested by Mensa (the high-IQ society) with a result that put me in the 99th percentile (making me a member for life). When I was a journalist, I would be the one everybody would turn to as the “walking encyclopedia” who knew tons of trivial about the most esoteric subjects. But something’s happened to me the last decade. In particular, since I discovered therianthropy. And I feel as if my brain is rational brain is shrinking, gradually being replaced by a mind that lives on instincts and hunches.
My wolf spirit.
But I digress. Suffice to say that Mistress and the Evergreen man seriously hit it off, although in a purely platonic way. As Mistress said last night, if that man is going to play with anybody, it’ll be me. But I don’t think he will. I got the strong feeling that once he understood my slave heart isn’t a fetish, but is instead who I truly am, he relegated me to the floor, as if I’m an underling. At times I would ask a question while hearing their conversation and he would ignore me. He never asked my opinion about anything. I was a slave, and I was treated as such, with all of his attention and respect going to my Owner.
And that’s how it should be. I applaud him for that, even if it means he and I will likely never wind up together for anything more than a one-night stand.
The Evergreen man’s house was huge and beautifully rustic, nestled in a mountain forest with a view that would take your breath away. His neighbors include Johnny Depp and Arnold Schwarzenegger (both of who have summer homes there). The drive to get to his house was rather long, convoluted and, at the end, extremely bumpy along a rocky rutted road, with us being happy we went up there in Mistress’s pickup truck instead of my Toyota sedan.
The man was equally impressive. He took part protesting in favor of gay-rights in Chicago as a teenager. Among his many fields of expertise is BDSM, and he was heavily involved in the Chicago community, and he became a counselor of sorts, helping people overcome psychological issues through applied bondage, pain, sex and the like.
Yet despite his experiences, I was a mystery to him. After dinner, he questioned me in an attempt to determine what makes me tick. What turns me on. He couldn’t figure me out because I’m not into this for humiliation or pain. I’m into it for the slavery, and he couldn’t see that as an end in itself.
He left the question hanging and began talking about some of his “patients,” and he mentioned how some women who felt too much in control of their situation would find they couldn’t orgasm easily, but would instead become detached. Those women, he said, would need to be put into situations (consensually, of course) where they wouldn’t know what was coming, such as being blindfolded and made to endure first cold play (with ice cubes on sensitive areas) followed by hot play (with melted wax). The man said some women he encountered consensually took part in very serious rape-oriented play, in which they would wear a band around their arm to parties, which would signal that anybody at the party could force them into having sex. Some went so far as to struggle, with the desire to be slapped or even beaten into submission. In one instance, he was the one who did the beating and raping, to my understanding. He wasn’t thrilled with doing it, but he took part nonetheless.
While he was talking, things started clicking together in my mind, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle finally locking into place.
I could answer his question regarding what turns me on.
To be treated as a toy. An object. A possession. Non-human.
I indicated to the man that I had his answer, but although he acknowledged that I wanted to speak, he didn’t let me for some time, instead making me wait until he and Mistress were sufficiently through with their conversation. And that was perfectly fine with me (even if a little frustrating) because it fit my true role in life.
After I started talking, though, both the man and Mistress became rather interested, and they completely agreed with me. And Mistress and the man both said they now know exactly how to treat me.
Pretty much every piece of the puzzle has already been mentioned in my previous postings in this blog.
Among the puzzle pieces are:
I’m fixated with Gor in a way I can’t shake. I was in Gor for years, serving Owners both online and in real life. I long to return, but Mistress won’t let me because she feels it would be detrimental. In Gor, the women are truly slaves against their will, liable to being killed or sold at the whim of their Owner for the slightest failure, sign of disrespect or act of obedience.
I long to be a wooden ballerina marionette, and I fantasize about it often whenever I’m sad. I was one in SecondLife for months, and I returned to it recently for a brief visit. Whenever I see puppets, I feel a connection and a wish to be with them, just a toy on strings, existing for no reason but to give joy, purely at the whim of my Owner.
As previously noted, I orgasmed 20 times in a single hour when Mistress’s Master took me to the porn theatre and allowed the men there to use me. He never once asked permission.
Possibly the most powerful orgasm I’ve ever had was when a potential Master in Colorado Springs inflicted very powerful pain on me while also intensely playing with my clit and breasts. He never asked for permission.
I love bondage with a passion. I love to be tied up and gagged and left with no recourse, no way out, existing only as a plaything.
I’ve fantasized for years, masturbating every day (sometimes multiple times) about being transformed into a vinyl inflatable fuck doll. In a typical fantasy, I’m sold or given to somebody who has no idea I was once human. Instead, I’m treated as nothing more than an inanimate object, with the purpose of being fucked then deflated until brought out to be fucked again.
And so on.
Despite it all, I have a shred of self-preservation. Which is why I was so upset when I was collared by Mistress’s Master. I knew if I allowed my mind and heart to be owned by him, he would abuse me immensely without any reciprocation to me.
I’m a toy. And as a toy, isn’t it right that I seek an Owner who would love me? An Owner that would treat me as a toy, but as a cherished one?
I have to admit I don’t know why I’m this way. But that’s what I am. And Mistress and the Evergreen man saw it without a doubt.
And last night, after that conversation, the Evergreen man wrapped me tightly in a long corset that extended past my crotch (he called it a “bondage corset”), then he cuffed my hands behind my back.
And Mistress called me her doll. And the man called me an object.
And I melted inside.
I started singing “Coin-Operated Boy” (a fantastic song by the Dresden Dolls that Mistress introduced me to recently), but I changed the words and created my own lyrics to a song I called, “Coin-Operated Girl.” It’s me. Really me. And I love it. *bounces gently*
I like the Evergreen man a lot. But, despite his wealth and resources, he isn’t Mistress. And I love her very much. Oh, I believe I could love the Evergreen man as well. But he came a bit too late.
We likely won’t be seeing him much as he’s often out of town on business, and the drive to his place took around two hours. Still, though, it was fun enough that eventually we’ll make it out there again … or he can come see us.
One wonderful side benefit of his Hinduism was he showed us a fantastic movie called “Sita Sings the Blues.” It’s a reverently irreverent animated telling of the part of the Ramayana that deals with Rama’s relationship with Sita. It’s written by a woman and is quite funny while telling things from Sita’s point of view with great old music. The creator has released it for downloading free online at Sita Sings the Blues . Do yourself a favor and watch it soon!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By the way, I lifted the term “conscious object” from an incredible blog entitled: The Thoughts of a Conscious Object . The author, known as “K-8”, has been posting regularly for years about her fixation with the idea of becoming a sentient object. There’s a whole subculture devoted to this, which includes numerous art and stories and discussions. (FYI, the subculture is called “ASFR”, which relates back to old pre-internet days when the stories were listed in a news group called “alt.sex.fetish.robots”). I’ve been fascinated by the subculture for a very long time and have read almost every story out on the Web about the topic, despite the fact that many are rather creepy, in that the person who is transformed does not want to be transformed. *shrugs*
To my total surprise, I met “K-8” in SecondLife a couple of days ago (she’s known as “Kate Battery” there). When I realized it was her, I completely embarrassed myself by behaving like a blushing teenage fangirl, and I don’t think an intelligent word was uttered on my part. Hopefully, the next time I meet her (should I be fortunate enough to do so), I’ll be able to have a better conversation.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mistress’s Master came over today by surprise. Well, he gave some warning.
I’ve realized why I don’t like Mistress’s Master. He takes people’s good traits (like compassion and tenderness) and selfishly exploits them.
Mistress loves him deeply, even though she is very bothered by the fact her Master is cheating on his wife and, as a result, nothing long-term will ever come of the relationship. Mistress keeps telling me that she feels she and her Master will break up soon, but it seems yet to happen.
Mistress’s Master treats her like Mistress treats me. Today, for instance, he brought over a married couple and had Mistress suck his cock while they watched. He humiliates Mistress, uses her without concern for her desires and uses her to no end. He treats her as a slave. The problem is that Mistress doesn’t want to be treated like that, but she allows it because she loves him so much. In contrast, I want to be treated like that (as a slave, that is, without being asked for my input). Mistress is pretty much at her limits with her Master, in that it’s doubtful anybody could push her further than he does. I, however, am far from my limits with Mistress, and somebody (like her Master) could seriously hurt and abuse me if I let them get their hooks into me. I came pretty close to doing something pretty bad – I almost signed over power of attorney to a Master and Mistress in Colorado Springs – but I was stopped by my Mistress at the time, who refused to let them own me without them agreeing to a contract approved by her. That contract was a deal breaker, and I’m glad. Anyway, Mistress is hurt by how her Master treats her, and I’m blessed by how my Mistress treats me, yet we’re treated the same way. The difference is, of course, that Mistress loves me, and Mistress’s Master doesn’t love her. Such is life.
Mistress told me to expect to suck her Master’s cock, but fortunately, that didn’t happen. What did happen was I was stripped naked (except for my panties) for her Master (who occasionally groped my breasts), then tied up with skilled finesse by Mistress. My breasts were bound, my wrists were tied behind my back, and my ankles here tied together so I could hardly move. Well, hardly for some people, as I could still dance, spin around and kneel fluidly (which Mistress found amusing). After the couple arrived, I was told to stay in the living room while they all went to Mistress’s bedroom to play. I never found out exactly what happened except that the married woman was crying at the end and was rather uncomfortable with the events, and she was likely convinced against her wishes to try out BDSM today. Sounds like her husband and Mistress’s Master share a like mind in a few ways.
While they were all in there I decided to make good use of the fact that Mistress had untied my hands, and I made a plate of hor d'oeuvres using what little we had at the new house – which turned up to be little tuna-salad sandwiches and pickles arranged in a sunburst wheel around a small bowl of spicy dip. I had hoped to impress everybody because I was thoroughly pissed at myself. I was supposed to be in high protocol during the visit, but at one point when Mistress was trying to help me to my feet she slightly wrenched my arm by accident, and I corrected her by quietly saying I could get up better by myself and said she hurt me while doing so. I was embarrassed beyond belief that I had blurted out my thoughts like that, but nobody seemed to mind. Afterward, Mistress saw my inner turmoil and, to help me, she punished me by slapping my breasts and face around painfully, and that actually did help. Anyway, although I had hoped to further make up for that with the food plate, nobody ate it but Mistress and me, although people saw it, and Mistress was happy with it. And that was enough for me. *grins*
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mistress wants to head out for dinner, so I’d better post this before it turns into a novel. Hopefully I didn’t make too many typos, as I’m posting it without proofreading it. La kajira!!!
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Day 48 - On Having 20 Orgasms in a Single Hour, An Unpleasant Tattoo, and Dreaming of Being a Blow-Up Sex Doll
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Friday, September 25, 2009
Day 47 - On Giving A Blow Job to a Stranger, Being Treated as a Slave, and Remembering My Toy Master
(Note: I haven't skipped a lot of days. Instead, I'm now counting from the day Mistress collared me instead of the day I moved in with her.)
Mistress had me give oral sex to a stranger today.
It’s the first time she’s done that.
A male friend of hers visited our new house today, and Mistress gave him a tour. Along with showing off her inorganic property, she showed off her human property – me. She bragged about how pretty I was to him, talking as if I wasn’t there, and after he agreed with her, she caressed my left nipple and pulled up my shirt to expose my breasts. After the man examined them, Mistress invited him to touch and play with them however he wished, and he massaged and suckled my breasts while I stood at attention.
After a few minutes of this, I asked Mistress if I should further undress, and she asked me if I wanted to, and I told her the decision was hers, and she ordered me to do so. After taking off my clothes, Mistress had me stand in front of the man for his inspection, and he began caressing my body (never once asking my permission, of course). Mistress bragged about how large my clitoris is, and the man responded by rubbing his fingers against it until I orgasmed to his satisfaction. Mistress then bragged about my mouth and asked the man if he wanted me to give him a blow job, and the man responded enthusiastically by pulling down his pants, and I got on my knees and gave him oral sex until my jaws were so sore I couldn’t take it anymore. I was very apologetic and felt ashamed that I wasn’t able to get the man to orgasm in my mouth, but Mistress told me later that the man had already masturbated today, and that he left very pleased with my services.
I wouldn’t have volunteered to service the man like I did. But I’m a slave, and Mistress wanted to impress her visitor, and I did what I was told.
I’m not ashamed in any way. It’s part of my life now. Giving oral sex to a stranger is like washing a stranger’s car – both would be jobs I wouldn’t necessarily desire to do, but I’d do it if Mistress wanted me to. She doesn’t even have to order me to do such things. I actively seek to find ways to please her, such as when I asked her if she wanted me to undress for the man. Or when I do the dishes and laundry without being told. For some people, stripping for a stranger doesn’t exactly fit in the same sentence as washing dishes, but for me they’re both part of my duties.
Last night I asked Mistress – practically pleaded with her – to please treat me like a slave in all respects. I told her how I’ve come to trust her deeply, and I want to give my life over to her. Mistress responded by saying that she would do as she desired with me, and that she has, indeed, come to fully see me as her slave. Every day she controls my life more and more as she sees fit, and she’s become very acclimated to having a human possession at her beck and call.
And I’ve become quite acclimated to it, too. I am a slave. And I’m happy.
La kajira!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On another note, I posted on a wonderful site (www.stuckposing.com) dedicated to the fetish of living statues. I put the following into a thread dedicated to a continuing story written by a man very dear to me (who is known as "Masteroftoys" on the StuckPosing site). The story is about a group of college students who stumble across a Jumanji-like game, but this one changes them into various toys as they approach the finish space. It’s quite enjoyable, and it can be found at: "Egnhcyot!"
Anyway, here’s what I posted …
*smiles softly, her wooden limbs swaying softly on her Owner's strings*
That's a lucky little wind-up doll, I have to say, to have a story being written for her by so wonderful a Toy Maker as the author is.
I should know. He created me early this year.
One day in SecondLife, an online virtual reality, a woman was wandering a bit lost in an island dedicated to dolls. There she encountered the Master Toymaker, and after a long, tender process, he pulled a beautiful wooden ballerina marionette out of her heart. The doll went on to be with him for two wonderful months, cherishing the infrequent times they could be together. He would at times turn her into other dolls, including a China doll and, his favorite, a wind-up tin soldierette. She loved being a soldierette because she knew her Creator enjoyed her being one. At heart, though, they both knew what she truly was -- a wooden puppet whose life's true purpose was to dance on strings for the entertainment of her Creator and, when he would put on shows, for the merriment of children and adults alike.
That doll is me.
A lot has happened to me in both SecondLife and RealLife since then.
I am owned now in RealLife as a slave to a Mistress I love, who I live with and share her bed each night. It is a life that feels right and truly natural to me, and I enjoy it in so very many ways.
Isn't that what a slave is? An organic puppet in many ways? One flows into another, I guess.
I discovered a wonderful professional puppet theater in my city, and while I was there watching a delightful show, I purchased two marionettes -- a wooden girl with blond yarn hair, and a white unicorn foal. Together they have become best friends, and I hold them dear to my heart.
And whenever I am hit by stress and despair, I remember with joy my time as a wooden doll. And I imagine what bliss it would be to be that marionette, her one purpose in life to be a toy alongside her dearest companion.
The Master Toymaker taught me a great deal about myself. His insights into being a toy continue to touch me deeply to this day in numerous ways.
I told my Mistress today of how much I still dream of being a marionette, and she asked me why I felt that way. In response, I read to her this snippet from Egnhcyot:
“Well that’s because you aren’t used to being a rag doll, it’s not all bad.” with that Jason reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, then pulling her onto his lap he gave her a bear hug.
Melt.
That’s all that went though Jenifer’s head at that moment. For some reason everything in the universe felt “right” she had an owner, he was playing with her, she was clean, her dress presentable.
Melt.
Looking around she noticed the shop seemed to change suddenly. No longer dark, but brightly lit. beautiful. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Aisha still dancing, but now she seemed to be doing so in a completely different way. Before it seemed simple, but now it was simply stunning. And Aisha herself seemed to be glowing. Or at least had an aura around her that let Jenifer know she was special. As Jason released her from his embrace she was able to see June and Phoebe lacked the aura effect. But Jason seemed to glow to such a degree it made her wince when she first looked at his face.
“See, Not so bad is it?”
Words so wonderfully crafted such as those show without any doubt how beautifully and perfectly the Master of Toys understands the hearts of us who are not-quite-human in our dreams.
I long to read the conclusion of this story, but I understand, indeed, how muses can lead a writer astray. I just want to make sure the Master of Toys knows that he's missed in many ways by some people, and that they wish for him joy, love and success while thanking him for all he's done.
-- Wilma the Marionette
~~~~~~~~~
On a final depressing note, I didn't get the job I interviewed for two days ago. I cried off and on all afternoon about it because I had been so extremely confident I would be hired. Mistress didn't like the way I was acting, but she was very sympathetic and loving the entire time. In case anybody hasn't guessed yet, I'm slightly bi-polar, and I'm prone to extreme ups and downs in my moods. Mistress is doing all she can to help me in times of stress. I'm her property, and when Mistress collared me, she accepted the entire package. Very few slaves in this world could ask for anything more wonderful. *smiles softly and tenderly*
Mistress had me give oral sex to a stranger today.
It’s the first time she’s done that.
A male friend of hers visited our new house today, and Mistress gave him a tour. Along with showing off her inorganic property, she showed off her human property – me. She bragged about how pretty I was to him, talking as if I wasn’t there, and after he agreed with her, she caressed my left nipple and pulled up my shirt to expose my breasts. After the man examined them, Mistress invited him to touch and play with them however he wished, and he massaged and suckled my breasts while I stood at attention.
After a few minutes of this, I asked Mistress if I should further undress, and she asked me if I wanted to, and I told her the decision was hers, and she ordered me to do so. After taking off my clothes, Mistress had me stand in front of the man for his inspection, and he began caressing my body (never once asking my permission, of course). Mistress bragged about how large my clitoris is, and the man responded by rubbing his fingers against it until I orgasmed to his satisfaction. Mistress then bragged about my mouth and asked the man if he wanted me to give him a blow job, and the man responded enthusiastically by pulling down his pants, and I got on my knees and gave him oral sex until my jaws were so sore I couldn’t take it anymore. I was very apologetic and felt ashamed that I wasn’t able to get the man to orgasm in my mouth, but Mistress told me later that the man had already masturbated today, and that he left very pleased with my services.
I wouldn’t have volunteered to service the man like I did. But I’m a slave, and Mistress wanted to impress her visitor, and I did what I was told.
I’m not ashamed in any way. It’s part of my life now. Giving oral sex to a stranger is like washing a stranger’s car – both would be jobs I wouldn’t necessarily desire to do, but I’d do it if Mistress wanted me to. She doesn’t even have to order me to do such things. I actively seek to find ways to please her, such as when I asked her if she wanted me to undress for the man. Or when I do the dishes and laundry without being told. For some people, stripping for a stranger doesn’t exactly fit in the same sentence as washing dishes, but for me they’re both part of my duties.
Last night I asked Mistress – practically pleaded with her – to please treat me like a slave in all respects. I told her how I’ve come to trust her deeply, and I want to give my life over to her. Mistress responded by saying that she would do as she desired with me, and that she has, indeed, come to fully see me as her slave. Every day she controls my life more and more as she sees fit, and she’s become very acclimated to having a human possession at her beck and call.
And I’ve become quite acclimated to it, too. I am a slave. And I’m happy.
La kajira!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On another note, I posted on a wonderful site (www.stuckposing.com) dedicated to the fetish of living statues. I put the following into a thread dedicated to a continuing story written by a man very dear to me (who is known as "Masteroftoys" on the StuckPosing site). The story is about a group of college students who stumble across a Jumanji-like game, but this one changes them into various toys as they approach the finish space. It’s quite enjoyable, and it can be found at: "Egnhcyot!"
Anyway, here’s what I posted …
Quote from: Masteroftoys on September 16, 2009, 03:37:55 AM
I have been working on a new story, but it’s only for a lovely little wind-up doll I know.
*smiles softly, her wooden limbs swaying softly on her Owner's strings*
That's a lucky little wind-up doll, I have to say, to have a story being written for her by so wonderful a Toy Maker as the author is.
I should know. He created me early this year.
One day in SecondLife, an online virtual reality, a woman was wandering a bit lost in an island dedicated to dolls. There she encountered the Master Toymaker, and after a long, tender process, he pulled a beautiful wooden ballerina marionette out of her heart. The doll went on to be with him for two wonderful months, cherishing the infrequent times they could be together. He would at times turn her into other dolls, including a China doll and, his favorite, a wind-up tin soldierette. She loved being a soldierette because she knew her Creator enjoyed her being one. At heart, though, they both knew what she truly was -- a wooden puppet whose life's true purpose was to dance on strings for the entertainment of her Creator and, when he would put on shows, for the merriment of children and adults alike.
That doll is me.
A lot has happened to me in both SecondLife and RealLife since then.
I am owned now in RealLife as a slave to a Mistress I love, who I live with and share her bed each night. It is a life that feels right and truly natural to me, and I enjoy it in so very many ways.
Isn't that what a slave is? An organic puppet in many ways? One flows into another, I guess.
I discovered a wonderful professional puppet theater in my city, and while I was there watching a delightful show, I purchased two marionettes -- a wooden girl with blond yarn hair, and a white unicorn foal. Together they have become best friends, and I hold them dear to my heart.
And whenever I am hit by stress and despair, I remember with joy my time as a wooden doll. And I imagine what bliss it would be to be that marionette, her one purpose in life to be a toy alongside her dearest companion.
The Master Toymaker taught me a great deal about myself. His insights into being a toy continue to touch me deeply to this day in numerous ways.
I told my Mistress today of how much I still dream of being a marionette, and she asked me why I felt that way. In response, I read to her this snippet from Egnhcyot:
“Well that’s because you aren’t used to being a rag doll, it’s not all bad.” with that Jason reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, then pulling her onto his lap he gave her a bear hug.
Melt.
That’s all that went though Jenifer’s head at that moment. For some reason everything in the universe felt “right” she had an owner, he was playing with her, she was clean, her dress presentable.
Melt.
Looking around she noticed the shop seemed to change suddenly. No longer dark, but brightly lit. beautiful. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Aisha still dancing, but now she seemed to be doing so in a completely different way. Before it seemed simple, but now it was simply stunning. And Aisha herself seemed to be glowing. Or at least had an aura around her that let Jenifer know she was special. As Jason released her from his embrace she was able to see June and Phoebe lacked the aura effect. But Jason seemed to glow to such a degree it made her wince when she first looked at his face.
“See, Not so bad is it?”
Words so wonderfully crafted such as those show without any doubt how beautifully and perfectly the Master of Toys understands the hearts of us who are not-quite-human in our dreams.
I long to read the conclusion of this story, but I understand, indeed, how muses can lead a writer astray. I just want to make sure the Master of Toys knows that he's missed in many ways by some people, and that they wish for him joy, love and success while thanking him for all he's done.
-- Wilma the Marionette
~~~~~~~~~
On a final depressing note, I didn't get the job I interviewed for two days ago. I cried off and on all afternoon about it because I had been so extremely confident I would be hired. Mistress didn't like the way I was acting, but she was very sympathetic and loving the entire time. In case anybody hasn't guessed yet, I'm slightly bi-polar, and I'm prone to extreme ups and downs in my moods. Mistress is doing all she can to help me in times of stress. I'm her property, and when Mistress collared me, she accepted the entire package. Very few slaves in this world could ask for anything more wonderful. *smiles softly and tenderly*
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Day 22 (or Day 45) - On Remembering Being Collared by Mistress, Why I Didn't Go With Her Master, An Explanation of Protocols, and Being Fucked By a Guy Like a JackHammer
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Tuesday, September 22, 2009
The Life of a Slave - Day 21
We're moving to a new house in Longmont. And I have a long job interview this morning. So what little time I would normally have to write has been thrown out the window.
Well, I did have a couple of hours two days ago. Sorta. In the middle of the night. And I used them to get into SecondLife instead of sleep. I returned to being a magical wooden ballerina marionette, who after a long absence was somehow cosmically plopped onto the space station at Skara Brae (which is located at a flux between high magic and high technology). It was rather enjoyable, particularly because of a woman there who was suffering from having a computer Artificial Intelligence grafted into her brain, thereby causing her to suffer from two personalities, and having her own personality overwritten at times without her realizing it (for example, even though she would openly claim to be independent and even dominant, she would kneel at the feet of visitors and do all they commanded, and when asked why, she would explain she was just being "nice". *grins*). We got along famously, and I wish so much I could go back there. I wish it a bit too much, actually. I want to lose myself in SecondLife again. *sighs* Once an addict, always an addict, I guess.
The move has been taking a lot of time, indeed. It's a great place with plenty of room and access to a wonderful concrete nature trail perfect for roller blading through trees and alongside a beautiful creek. The town is small enough to be warm and comfortable but large enough for almost all our needs and even some good potential employment. And there's even a gaming store with somebody wanting to run a Shadowrun campaign, which is rather appealing to me, as I'm a long-time fan of that game. Whether I would have time for it is another matter, however.
Mistress and the man with the treehouse I mentioned talked, and he gave a lot of info about himself to Mistress and ... I'm a bit disappointed. He's not a Master. He's a switch who likes being humiliated by being forced to wear women's clothing. Does that mean I won't like him when we meet this weekend (which Mistress has so nicely set up)? We could wind up nuts about each other, I realize. I was just hoping for something a bit more traditional. A good strong dominant masculine Master with a heart of gold. Yeah, I know. Me and a thousand other women with slave hearts want the same thing, so good luck.
*sighs again*
Gotta go. Wish me luck at the interview.
-- schatzie
Well, I did have a couple of hours two days ago. Sorta. In the middle of the night. And I used them to get into SecondLife instead of sleep. I returned to being a magical wooden ballerina marionette, who after a long absence was somehow cosmically plopped onto the space station at Skara Brae (which is located at a flux between high magic and high technology). It was rather enjoyable, particularly because of a woman there who was suffering from having a computer Artificial Intelligence grafted into her brain, thereby causing her to suffer from two personalities, and having her own personality overwritten at times without her realizing it (for example, even though she would openly claim to be independent and even dominant, she would kneel at the feet of visitors and do all they commanded, and when asked why, she would explain she was just being "nice". *grins*). We got along famously, and I wish so much I could go back there. I wish it a bit too much, actually. I want to lose myself in SecondLife again. *sighs* Once an addict, always an addict, I guess.
The move has been taking a lot of time, indeed. It's a great place with plenty of room and access to a wonderful concrete nature trail perfect for roller blading through trees and alongside a beautiful creek. The town is small enough to be warm and comfortable but large enough for almost all our needs and even some good potential employment. And there's even a gaming store with somebody wanting to run a Shadowrun campaign, which is rather appealing to me, as I'm a long-time fan of that game. Whether I would have time for it is another matter, however.
Mistress and the man with the treehouse I mentioned talked, and he gave a lot of info about himself to Mistress and ... I'm a bit disappointed. He's not a Master. He's a switch who likes being humiliated by being forced to wear women's clothing. Does that mean I won't like him when we meet this weekend (which Mistress has so nicely set up)? We could wind up nuts about each other, I realize. I was just hoping for something a bit more traditional. A good strong dominant masculine Master with a heart of gold. Yeah, I know. Me and a thousand other women with slave hearts want the same thing, so good luck.
*sighs again*
Gotta go. Wish me luck at the interview.
-- schatzie
Sunday, September 20, 2009
The Life of a Slave - Day 19
*sighs*
The last few days have been rather busy. It's hard to believe that at one time I was spending literally two-thirds (or more) of my waking hours lost in the online virtual reality known as SecondLife. Now, I hardly have time to even update my blog.
Where do I begin today?
Do I talk about how I first became a real-life slave, and how I quickly went from discovering it online to kneeling alongside two other kajira at the feet of a man known as possibly the most determinedly Gorean Master in Colorado? It may have been part-time, but it was very real, and even though it may be detrimental to me, that man still owns a part of my heart today.
Or do I talk about the last few days since my last post, about how my job intervew went so incredibly well last Tuesday, and how I had a horrible day Thursday with several hours of depression when my health insurance was cancelled (but was re-instated the next day by an incredibly nice manager at the insurance company), and how I joined my Mistress (and stayed the night) at the house of an extremely masochistic puppyboy who is also a sub to Mistress's (*sighs*) Master, and how I got a bit drunk and lashed out a how much I can't stand Mistress's Master, and how Friday night Mistress and I experienced the high protocol event at the local BDSM club, and how Saturday was a fantastic day with my children (including the creation of a very delicious and lovely chocolate house)?
Or do I totally leave the topic of slavery and talk about therianthropy and how I have experienced the effects of having a wolf spirit, including distinct bodily dysphoria and shifts in mental patterns, since I was a young girl?
Do I talk about how Mistress and I share a devoted love, but there remains an underlying tension due to the fact that I'm naturally heterosexual, and I want a Master who will be devoted to me, and I continue to have problems to a degree with the fact that Mistress is female and has a Master of her own (who I can't stand) and she has repeately said she will not commit to me long term? And how my mind has been pulled by the interest of a man in a mountain town near Denver who seems on the surface to meet many of the needs in my life that Mistress cannot fulfill?
Or do I finish my chores?
I'm a slave. Chores, of course, come first.
I hope to have time tonight to write. I'll do my best.
After I finish my chores.
....
Okay, I'm being a little naughty. I still have housework to do, but I posted a comment in "Collar 6", which is one of my absolutely favorite online comic strips. I HIGHLY recommend you check it out at http://collar6.com !!!
Here's what I wrote regarding today's comic:
My heart melted when I read the last strip.
If I hadn’t known it before, I would have realized it then — that the writers of this strip truly understand the desires of a slave girl.
For a slave, it doesn’t matter at heart whether her Owner is rich or poor, as long as the devotion between them is blessed with a richness of its own. One that is, hopefully, blessed with love.
And I believe that’s what Mistress Sixx and Laura share. A love that makes Mistress Sixx’s wealth seem paultry by comparison.
Call me a romantic, but that’s what I am. I am a full-time live-in slave in real life, and I love my Mistress. There were a lot of people wanting me as their slave when I first decided to accept the lifestyle, but it was love that led me to where I am now.
By the way, I admire Laura’s ability to withstand pain. I’m in no way a painslut, and last night Mistress punished me (for forgetting at first to put on my seatbelt during a recent car journey) by putting very tight nipple clamps on my breasts. I screamed within 10 seconds, and she removed them with a harsh warning. But then, maybe it’s just my nipples are rather sensitive, as I can handle Mistress’s disciplinary spankings when needed. Well, usually. *groans and rubs her tush*
Good luck, Laura. You may be fictional, but you’re real in the hearts of a lot of women, and you’ve definitely got sisters out here in spirit.
The last few days have been rather busy. It's hard to believe that at one time I was spending literally two-thirds (or more) of my waking hours lost in the online virtual reality known as SecondLife. Now, I hardly have time to even update my blog.
Where do I begin today?
Do I talk about how I first became a real-life slave, and how I quickly went from discovering it online to kneeling alongside two other kajira at the feet of a man known as possibly the most determinedly Gorean Master in Colorado? It may have been part-time, but it was very real, and even though it may be detrimental to me, that man still owns a part of my heart today.
Or do I talk about the last few days since my last post, about how my job intervew went so incredibly well last Tuesday, and how I had a horrible day Thursday with several hours of depression when my health insurance was cancelled (but was re-instated the next day by an incredibly nice manager at the insurance company), and how I joined my Mistress (and stayed the night) at the house of an extremely masochistic puppyboy who is also a sub to Mistress's (*sighs*) Master, and how I got a bit drunk and lashed out a how much I can't stand Mistress's Master, and how Friday night Mistress and I experienced the high protocol event at the local BDSM club, and how Saturday was a fantastic day with my children (including the creation of a very delicious and lovely chocolate house)?
Or do I totally leave the topic of slavery and talk about therianthropy and how I have experienced the effects of having a wolf spirit, including distinct bodily dysphoria and shifts in mental patterns, since I was a young girl?
Do I talk about how Mistress and I share a devoted love, but there remains an underlying tension due to the fact that I'm naturally heterosexual, and I want a Master who will be devoted to me, and I continue to have problems to a degree with the fact that Mistress is female and has a Master of her own (who I can't stand) and she has repeately said she will not commit to me long term? And how my mind has been pulled by the interest of a man in a mountain town near Denver who seems on the surface to meet many of the needs in my life that Mistress cannot fulfill?
Or do I finish my chores?
I'm a slave. Chores, of course, come first.
I hope to have time tonight to write. I'll do my best.
After I finish my chores.
....
Okay, I'm being a little naughty. I still have housework to do, but I posted a comment in "Collar 6", which is one of my absolutely favorite online comic strips. I HIGHLY recommend you check it out at http://collar6.com !!!
Here's what I wrote regarding today's comic:
My heart melted when I read the last strip.
If I hadn’t known it before, I would have realized it then — that the writers of this strip truly understand the desires of a slave girl.
For a slave, it doesn’t matter at heart whether her Owner is rich or poor, as long as the devotion between them is blessed with a richness of its own. One that is, hopefully, blessed with love.
And I believe that’s what Mistress Sixx and Laura share. A love that makes Mistress Sixx’s wealth seem paultry by comparison.
Call me a romantic, but that’s what I am. I am a full-time live-in slave in real life, and I love my Mistress. There were a lot of people wanting me as their slave when I first decided to accept the lifestyle, but it was love that led me to where I am now.
By the way, I admire Laura’s ability to withstand pain. I’m in no way a painslut, and last night Mistress punished me (for forgetting at first to put on my seatbelt during a recent car journey) by putting very tight nipple clamps on my breasts. I screamed within 10 seconds, and she removed them with a harsh warning. But then, maybe it’s just my nipples are rather sensitive, as I can handle Mistress’s disciplinary spankings when needed. Well, usually. *groans and rubs her tush*
Good luck, Laura. You may be fictional, but you’re real in the hearts of a lot of women, and you’ve definitely got sisters out here in spirit.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
The Life of a Slave - Day 14
Busy day today, as normal.
This morning I saw a bit of a documentary on the history of American puppetry. It’s a particular interest of mine for various reasons. I’ve loved puppets all my life, and I have probably a couple of dozen, mostly the realistically furry Folkmanis animal puppets, but I also have a couple of marionettes. One of the marionettes in particular is special to me. A wooden female puppet with a peasant outfit and yellow-yarn hair. Her name is Wilma, named after a SecondLife avatar I had. I was a marionette for months in SecondLife. Out of hundreds of thousands of people in SL, I was one of the handful of full-time marionettes. I truly lived as one, and even dreamed I was one. I was made of wood, I wore a lovely pink ballerina outfit, I had strings that would make me move, and I had a repertoire of beautiful ballet dances. More importantly, it was what I was at heart for awhile. It was a strange and wonderful time. In an area dedicated to people who like to pretend to be dolls, I met a man who talked with me for a long time. He was a master toymaker, and during the course of several hours, he slowly reached into my soul and found a wooden marionette, which he pulled out from my heart to live. At times the Master Toymaker would turn me into other toys, primarily a china doll or a windup tin soldierette (which was his favorite – he actually had a fetish about them). I was madly in love with him, and, to me, being a marionette was a dream come true. I wanted so very, very much to become one for real and … I still do. And that’s what Wilma is. She’s me, in a way. It’s hard to explain to other people why I want that so much but I’ve met more than a few who share my deep longing.
Along with the normal chores, today was spent preparing for tomorrow’s job interview. If I get the job, I’ll be writing software for a weather satellite system over the polar icecap. If I had my choice, my only job would be to be Mistress’s slave. There’s an important truth that seems bizarre but it can’t be denied: it’s a luxury in our society to be a slave. Heck, it’s a luxury to be a stay-at-home wife these days.
I got called about another programming job today which sounds much more to my liking. The company said it’s pretty unusual in that software development would only be about a third of the job, and the rest would be everything from documentation to working with customers. The company sounds like it would have a relaxed atmosphere where my desire to serve and help others might shine. The woman who called me said to expect to talk for only a quarter hour, and she wound up talking to me for 45 minutes, scheduling an interview and asking for references. All good things. We’ll see.
Today I got hit with a reality of being a slave … the fact that one’s Owner may not always be right. I needed to study this afternoon, and I needed to get some documents and references to the woman regarding the new programming job. Mistress, however, told me to put it all on hold and go with her to get some personal items out of her car, which had been repossessed last week (she’s been able to use her former stepson’s truck after getting it licensed and set up with insurance). I didn’t want to go, and I knew it was a bad idea, but I obeyed and went with her … and felt tense from the moment we started driving. Traffic was bad, it took longer than we thought, and the guy wasn’t there to let us in the impound lot.
After sitting on the tailgate of Mistress’s truck for a half hour, not able to do anything but stare at the sky and the fence around the lot, I was a bit of a mess from frustration, and I was blaming myself for not telling my Mistress I needed to stay at home. I realized that by allowing Mistress to make all my decisions, sometimes something would go wrong that I could have prevented. Seeing how distraught I was becoming, Mistress eventually decided to give up on waiting and take me back home, and I remained basically wrapped up in a ball in my seat, my brain all screwed over as we drove along … that is, until somebody slammed into us on the highway. Some idiot crashed into the side of the truck as they were changing lanes and, instead of pulling over, they sped up and wove in and out of traffic to get away from the accident. Fortunately, neither of us was hurt, and the truck is still operational, and we got the license plate and reported it to the police. And it turned out that the guy never showed up to open the impound lot (he apparently got so stuck in traffic he just didn’t bother to fulfill his appointment), and so Mistress was right in leaving, and she’s rescheduled for tomorrow. And I was able to get the documentation sent out in time, and I got plenty of studying tonight. So it all worked out in the end.
Still, though … the reality is a reality. As a slave, I’m giving up the decision making process to somebody else. Is that truly a good thing? I believe it is. It’s what I want to do with my life. It’s what I am. I want to be a slave. I want to be a puppet. I want to give up my self will for the pleasure of another. Does that make me crazy? I don’t know, but I know this … I was happier yesterday morning than I’ve been in a long, long time. And Mistress and I both feel that was definitely a good thing.
This morning I saw a bit of a documentary on the history of American puppetry. It’s a particular interest of mine for various reasons. I’ve loved puppets all my life, and I have probably a couple of dozen, mostly the realistically furry Folkmanis animal puppets, but I also have a couple of marionettes. One of the marionettes in particular is special to me. A wooden female puppet with a peasant outfit and yellow-yarn hair. Her name is Wilma, named after a SecondLife avatar I had. I was a marionette for months in SecondLife. Out of hundreds of thousands of people in SL, I was one of the handful of full-time marionettes. I truly lived as one, and even dreamed I was one. I was made of wood, I wore a lovely pink ballerina outfit, I had strings that would make me move, and I had a repertoire of beautiful ballet dances. More importantly, it was what I was at heart for awhile. It was a strange and wonderful time. In an area dedicated to people who like to pretend to be dolls, I met a man who talked with me for a long time. He was a master toymaker, and during the course of several hours, he slowly reached into my soul and found a wooden marionette, which he pulled out from my heart to live. At times the Master Toymaker would turn me into other toys, primarily a china doll or a windup tin soldierette (which was his favorite – he actually had a fetish about them). I was madly in love with him, and, to me, being a marionette was a dream come true. I wanted so very, very much to become one for real and … I still do. And that’s what Wilma is. She’s me, in a way. It’s hard to explain to other people why I want that so much but I’ve met more than a few who share my deep longing.
Along with the normal chores, today was spent preparing for tomorrow’s job interview. If I get the job, I’ll be writing software for a weather satellite system over the polar icecap. If I had my choice, my only job would be to be Mistress’s slave. There’s an important truth that seems bizarre but it can’t be denied: it’s a luxury in our society to be a slave. Heck, it’s a luxury to be a stay-at-home wife these days.
I got called about another programming job today which sounds much more to my liking. The company said it’s pretty unusual in that software development would only be about a third of the job, and the rest would be everything from documentation to working with customers. The company sounds like it would have a relaxed atmosphere where my desire to serve and help others might shine. The woman who called me said to expect to talk for only a quarter hour, and she wound up talking to me for 45 minutes, scheduling an interview and asking for references. All good things. We’ll see.
Today I got hit with a reality of being a slave … the fact that one’s Owner may not always be right. I needed to study this afternoon, and I needed to get some documents and references to the woman regarding the new programming job. Mistress, however, told me to put it all on hold and go with her to get some personal items out of her car, which had been repossessed last week (she’s been able to use her former stepson’s truck after getting it licensed and set up with insurance). I didn’t want to go, and I knew it was a bad idea, but I obeyed and went with her … and felt tense from the moment we started driving. Traffic was bad, it took longer than we thought, and the guy wasn’t there to let us in the impound lot.
After sitting on the tailgate of Mistress’s truck for a half hour, not able to do anything but stare at the sky and the fence around the lot, I was a bit of a mess from frustration, and I was blaming myself for not telling my Mistress I needed to stay at home. I realized that by allowing Mistress to make all my decisions, sometimes something would go wrong that I could have prevented. Seeing how distraught I was becoming, Mistress eventually decided to give up on waiting and take me back home, and I remained basically wrapped up in a ball in my seat, my brain all screwed over as we drove along … that is, until somebody slammed into us on the highway. Some idiot crashed into the side of the truck as they were changing lanes and, instead of pulling over, they sped up and wove in and out of traffic to get away from the accident. Fortunately, neither of us was hurt, and the truck is still operational, and we got the license plate and reported it to the police. And it turned out that the guy never showed up to open the impound lot (he apparently got so stuck in traffic he just didn’t bother to fulfill his appointment), and so Mistress was right in leaving, and she’s rescheduled for tomorrow. And I was able to get the documentation sent out in time, and I got plenty of studying tonight. So it all worked out in the end.
Still, though … the reality is a reality. As a slave, I’m giving up the decision making process to somebody else. Is that truly a good thing? I believe it is. It’s what I want to do with my life. It’s what I am. I want to be a slave. I want to be a puppet. I want to give up my self will for the pleasure of another. Does that make me crazy? I don’t know, but I know this … I was happier yesterday morning than I’ve been in a long, long time. And Mistress and I both feel that was definitely a good thing.
Monday, September 14, 2009
The Life of a Slave - Day 13
Today was a hell of a day. And a heaven of one. But then, that’s life, isn’t it?
Mistress woke me up bright and early this morning, determined to get us both on a good schedule. From the moment I awoke today, I was fully a slave, and she and I knew it. I dedicated myself to overcoming my three biggest problems – talking too much, self loathing and eating too much. I got involved in everything that needed to be done, from making breakfast to cleaning up to doing the laundry, and I found myself practically flowing all day to a deep, inner rhythm of my servitude and total obedience. I spoke gently and sparsely, being always extremely respectful. Mistress repeatedly commented on how good a slave I was today, and how beautiful I was, and I felt loved and appreciated for what I am at heart. I felt good about life, and about my place in it. I felt I was what I should be.
I was happy all day. Until a little after 3 PM.
I have a job interview in two days for a software-developer position. I got the letter about it a week ago. I barely skimmed it, even though I’ve been stoked about the job all week. Today I read the letter carefully as I prepared to cram for the types of questions they might ask. To my shock, it said I needed to submit two application forms to them no later than 48 hours before the interview, and I had just missed the deadlines. Actually, it said I was supposed to have submitted the applications, which included a security screening, within two days of receipt of the letters, so that meant I should have sent them in last week. I hurriedly put the documents together, which took hours to complete, and I sent an apologetic letter to the human-resources person, offering to delay the interview if needed. And then, after all that was done … I broke down into tears and fell into a deep, horrid blackness of self-loathing and depression. I wailed and wept and fell apart so much that Mistress took over and made dinner for us, which ashamed me deeply. I babbled, breaking my vow of self control, repeatedly attacking myself to her as being worthless.
Mistress comforted me and had me meditate, but at heart it had to all wear off. Toward the end, Mistress made sure I understood that I am not the one to say I am worthless. I am not the one to say I am a bad slave. I am not the one to hurt or punish myself. My life is hers, and I put into her hands all judgment of myself. And knowing that gave me such an intense feeling of relief and peace.
Mistress emphasized her point by pointing to a beautiful wooden table in the middle of the room. The table, she said, was in horrible shape when she got it, but she worked hard on it, buffed out some awful burn marks and made it into something truly beautiful. And that's what she's doing to me, she said. She's working on me, she'll get the burn marks out of my heart, and she'll make me into a truly beautiful slave.
Mistress said I’m clearly trying to sabotage myself regarding being a developer because, truth be told, I hate it. I am not technically minded. Computers and the such make very little sense to me. I got into software developing by accident because I really wanted to be a computer animator. I’ve stayed in the business only because I wanted to make good money for my family. But, even though I got the letter about the great opportunity, I’ve ignored it for almost a week until most likely too late. Instead, I’ve focused on serving Mistress and making her life better. I’ve focused on being a slave. Which is what I am, and what I love.
La kajira! I say it with pride. Nobody could ever tell me that being a slave is less than what I should be. It’s truly what I am at heart. And this morning showed both my Mistress and me that it’s what brings me true happiness in life.
On another final note, Mistress warned me regarding her Master, who today found out that Mistress had collared me (she said she didn’t tell him simply because he didn’t need to know and it didn’t come up in conversation, but somehow he heard it from another source and asked her about it today). Mistress and I both know that, as somebody with a slave heart, I find myself strongly compelled to do whatever I’m ordered to do by somebody that expresses strong dominance. I will even lie to them if they ask if I don’t want to do something because my desire to please them is so strong and overcomes my wishes regarding my own pleasures. I’ve been pretty much raped because of that, all while the man was asking me whether I wanted him to fuck my brains out, and I would tell him I did.
And tonight, with that in mind, Mistress said she’s not sure she could protect me from her Master should he order me to do something I didn’t want to do, because she is so subservient to him. To quote: “I’m not sure I could protect you. It’s a bad situation. You need to make yourself scarce when he’s here. Leave the house. Go to the coffee shop or something. Make an excuse.”
Something to keep in mind. *sighs*
Oh, and by the way ... I didn't post yesterday because I was with my kids all day. Most of it was centered around the fact that my son wanted to go fishing. Numerous mishaps with the fishing equipment were both frustrating and rewarding, although I suffered a pretty nasty cut to my left pinky as a result of a bad situation with some fishing line. I came home happy but very tired, and Mistress was wonderful about it.
And ... I misunderstood Mistress's relationship with her female friend. They're purely platonic friends, even if they are quite close. Mistress told me the next day that her friend, who is a bit submissive, felt a bit awkward at being served by me and the submissive male, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. Chicken curry with rice (cooked by Mistress) and hot tea, followed by ice cream for dessert, all on a table covered with a lovely cloth and bedecked with candles. All the preparation paid off. The night ended with Mistress's friend giving Mistress a beautiful manicure and clear coating my nails as well. By that time I was so sleepy that Mistress ordered me to bed, and I fell asleep to the smell of popcorn as Mistress and her friend set up a movie to watch. After her friend left, Mistress tenderly came to bed and lay beside me. I slept rather well. *smiles*
Mistress woke me up bright and early this morning, determined to get us both on a good schedule. From the moment I awoke today, I was fully a slave, and she and I knew it. I dedicated myself to overcoming my three biggest problems – talking too much, self loathing and eating too much. I got involved in everything that needed to be done, from making breakfast to cleaning up to doing the laundry, and I found myself practically flowing all day to a deep, inner rhythm of my servitude and total obedience. I spoke gently and sparsely, being always extremely respectful. Mistress repeatedly commented on how good a slave I was today, and how beautiful I was, and I felt loved and appreciated for what I am at heart. I felt good about life, and about my place in it. I felt I was what I should be.
I was happy all day. Until a little after 3 PM.
I have a job interview in two days for a software-developer position. I got the letter about it a week ago. I barely skimmed it, even though I’ve been stoked about the job all week. Today I read the letter carefully as I prepared to cram for the types of questions they might ask. To my shock, it said I needed to submit two application forms to them no later than 48 hours before the interview, and I had just missed the deadlines. Actually, it said I was supposed to have submitted the applications, which included a security screening, within two days of receipt of the letters, so that meant I should have sent them in last week. I hurriedly put the documents together, which took hours to complete, and I sent an apologetic letter to the human-resources person, offering to delay the interview if needed. And then, after all that was done … I broke down into tears and fell into a deep, horrid blackness of self-loathing and depression. I wailed and wept and fell apart so much that Mistress took over and made dinner for us, which ashamed me deeply. I babbled, breaking my vow of self control, repeatedly attacking myself to her as being worthless.
Mistress comforted me and had me meditate, but at heart it had to all wear off. Toward the end, Mistress made sure I understood that I am not the one to say I am worthless. I am not the one to say I am a bad slave. I am not the one to hurt or punish myself. My life is hers, and I put into her hands all judgment of myself. And knowing that gave me such an intense feeling of relief and peace.
Mistress emphasized her point by pointing to a beautiful wooden table in the middle of the room. The table, she said, was in horrible shape when she got it, but she worked hard on it, buffed out some awful burn marks and made it into something truly beautiful. And that's what she's doing to me, she said. She's working on me, she'll get the burn marks out of my heart, and she'll make me into a truly beautiful slave.
Mistress said I’m clearly trying to sabotage myself regarding being a developer because, truth be told, I hate it. I am not technically minded. Computers and the such make very little sense to me. I got into software developing by accident because I really wanted to be a computer animator. I’ve stayed in the business only because I wanted to make good money for my family. But, even though I got the letter about the great opportunity, I’ve ignored it for almost a week until most likely too late. Instead, I’ve focused on serving Mistress and making her life better. I’ve focused on being a slave. Which is what I am, and what I love.
La kajira! I say it with pride. Nobody could ever tell me that being a slave is less than what I should be. It’s truly what I am at heart. And this morning showed both my Mistress and me that it’s what brings me true happiness in life.
On another final note, Mistress warned me regarding her Master, who today found out that Mistress had collared me (she said she didn’t tell him simply because he didn’t need to know and it didn’t come up in conversation, but somehow he heard it from another source and asked her about it today). Mistress and I both know that, as somebody with a slave heart, I find myself strongly compelled to do whatever I’m ordered to do by somebody that expresses strong dominance. I will even lie to them if they ask if I don’t want to do something because my desire to please them is so strong and overcomes my wishes regarding my own pleasures. I’ve been pretty much raped because of that, all while the man was asking me whether I wanted him to fuck my brains out, and I would tell him I did.
And tonight, with that in mind, Mistress said she’s not sure she could protect me from her Master should he order me to do something I didn’t want to do, because she is so subservient to him. To quote: “I’m not sure I could protect you. It’s a bad situation. You need to make yourself scarce when he’s here. Leave the house. Go to the coffee shop or something. Make an excuse.”
Something to keep in mind. *sighs*
Oh, and by the way ... I didn't post yesterday because I was with my kids all day. Most of it was centered around the fact that my son wanted to go fishing. Numerous mishaps with the fishing equipment were both frustrating and rewarding, although I suffered a pretty nasty cut to my left pinky as a result of a bad situation with some fishing line. I came home happy but very tired, and Mistress was wonderful about it.
And ... I misunderstood Mistress's relationship with her female friend. They're purely platonic friends, even if they are quite close. Mistress told me the next day that her friend, who is a bit submissive, felt a bit awkward at being served by me and the submissive male, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. Chicken curry with rice (cooked by Mistress) and hot tea, followed by ice cream for dessert, all on a table covered with a lovely cloth and bedecked with candles. All the preparation paid off. The night ended with Mistress's friend giving Mistress a beautiful manicure and clear coating my nails as well. By that time I was so sleepy that Mistress ordered me to bed, and I fell asleep to the smell of popcorn as Mistress and her friend set up a movie to watch. After her friend left, Mistress tenderly came to bed and lay beside me. I slept rather well. *smiles*
Saturday, September 12, 2009
The Life of a Slave - Day 11
Mistress is having a party tonight. Well, a get-together would be more like it, as she only has two guests – the submissive male who I mentioned in an earlier post, and a female friend who is also into the BDSM lifestyle. Mistress has already told me to plan tonight to leave her and the female friend alone in her bedroom after dinner and into the night, so I’ll be either sleeping with the male submissive or on the floor (or on the couch possible).
Mistress wants to make things as nice as possible for her female friend, and as a result I’ve been cleaning up the place since yesterday morning. We’re also moving to Longmont soon, and so we’re starting to prepare for that. Mistress isn’t the most thrilled with where we live now – a large trailer home in Frederick, a small farming town a good half hour from any type of city life – and she thinks we’d be much better off in the city. I like Longmont a lot, too, as it’s large enough to be complete in what it offers but it’s small enough to retain a beauty untarnished by urban sprawl. Mistress’s Master lives in Longmont, which she sees as an immediate advantage, but she’s repeatedly told me she doesn’t expect their relationship to last forever for a variety of reasons. She hasn’t explained the reasons in details, but it seems to be that his shallowness might be a large part of it.
My life continues to be almost non-stop busy. If I’m not doing the daily chores (laundry, dishes, etc.) I’m picking up in preparation for the move or I’m studying for potential employment. FYI, I got a computer science degree after high school because, after floundering around for years in college without having a clear goal, I decided I wanted to be a computer animator, and I mistakenly got a B.S. instead of getting a degree in graphical design, which is really what I needed to get into computer animation. To be honest, my parents would have refused, just like they did when I told them I hated engineering and I wanted to be an artist or a writer. My parents, who have both been dead for more than 10 years, controlled me like a puppeteer handles a marionette ever since I was a young girl, all the way into college. After a couple of unhappy years in computers I paid for my own way to get a second degree, this time in journalism, and I have about a decade of experience as a newspaper journalist as a result. After having children I returned to being a software developer, which I did for eight years until getting laid off more than a year ago. Getting the axe right at the start of the depression didn’t help things, but it seems the recession is finally over, and next week I have a job interview at a very established software company. I’m hedging my bet a bit by studying to be a copywriter, a new career that I hope will tide me over after my unemployment runs out in November. I took a class recently by a professional copywriter who said my journalism and technical experience together should make me a shoe-in to find companies wanting my services. We’ll see.
And there’s also my novel I need to finish. I got three-fourths of the way done with it and then stopped to take a break in the spring of last year. Fortunately, the novel will practically write itself to finish up, as I have an outline prepared and everything is in place to complete things. I just need to find the time and, more importantly, the drive.
The male submissive came over last night and took me to The Sanctuary, a professional BDSM hangout (dungeon) in Denver. I’m beginning to think he really is slave hearted, but he’s just forceful, in that he loves serving so much he practically demands that people allow him to serve. We met with the Master I talked about in a previous post, and things got a little weird for awhile. On the drive to the dungeon, I started feeling rather spacey, and fell asleep briefly. When I awoke, I felt almost feral, and I could strongly sense my wolf side. I didn’t feel submissive at all, and in fact felt a bit dominant toward the male submissive (who I’ll call “Ed” from now on). Okay, I felt very dominant toward him. Or maybe I was just annoyed at him. I’ll admit it – I have a prejudice against male submissives, especially male slaves. To me, that’s just not natural, and I tend not to like them. It’s a bias that I should overcome, but it still comes out. But that still doesn’t explain last night. Something was going on chemically, so I assume my hormones were out of whack last night. Or something. So, anyway, last night I decided to start ordering Ed around for awhile, and I was treating him like he was just property and I was to be obeyed without question. My orders were initially for things such as getting me food or coffee, but later I commanded him to get on a St. Andrew’s cross for flogging. The Master (who I’ll call “George”) found my behavior quite amusing, as did another live-in slave I met that night, but they both attributed it to the fact that I had earlier in the night talked about how I have sometimes online role-played being a dominant just to pleasure somebody who wanted to be bossed around. And, to be honest, Ed was loving every minute of it, judging from his reaction.
After Ed stripped off his clothes and got on the cross, Master George proceeded to teach me about how to safely and effectively flog somebody, and he brought out a very large selection of floggers made from everything from deer skin (which is extremely soft and causes almost no pain) to those made of caribou to those made of rope with sharply pointed barbed ends (ouch!). Not only did he demonstrate all of them on Edward, but he taught me to use them as well, and within an hour I was striking figure eight patterns up and down Edward’s back, buttocks and thighs. About halfway through, though, whatever was going on in my head faded away and I returned to normal, and I started feeling rather awkward doing what I was doing. I told nobody this and kept going because not only was it a rare educational experience, but especially because Edward (who is a masochist) clearly wanted me to continue. Also, Master George was telling me I was a very quick learner, and he also clearly was enjoying teaching me the new skill.
The image that kept going through my mind was from SecondLife of all things, back to a time in Treve when I was the Headmistress of the local kajira academy and I was whipping a disobedient slave girl. But fortunately such thoughts were only fleeting, and the reality of what was happening stuck in my mind much more deeply.
This morning it was revealed that my strikes against Edward cut through his skin, leaving several rakes of bloody welts below his shoulders. To him, not only were they a mark of pride, but he now seems to see me as somebody he wants to obey. After Mistress woke me this morning, she said Ed and she had talked, and from now on I am considered first girl of the household, and Ed is to be subservient to me at all times, to the point that he is to call me “Ma’am” or “Mistress.” I’ve been first girl enough times in SecondLife to be used to the idea, but it still came as a surprise that I’m still getting adjusted to.
Master George, by the way, seems rather enamored of me now. After the flogging session, he had me sit at his feet for hours while we talked about life, slavery, BDSM and the such. Okay, I’ll say it … I love him, and I think he loves me. But I also love my Mistress, of course, very much, and he loves his wife, of course, very much. What I feel for him is what a slave feels for a Master she adores, and I think the feeling from him is that in reverse. The good thing is Mistress really likes him, trusts him and deeply respects him, so much that she has said I am to treat him as a Master in all ways, and I have full permission to “play” with him and do whatever he commands in all respects. He is, naturally, quite happy to know that, and he wants to do things with Mistress and me on a regular basis – which thrills me to no end, not just because I’m nuts about him, but because he is extremely knowledgeable in so many ways. For example, he told me last night about a monthly high-protocol dinner held at the Sanctuary, and today he wrote me saying he wants Mistress and me to go so much that he’s willing to pay our admission costs and teach Mistress about the expected protocol ahead of time. I love protocol and ritual – it’s one of my favorite aspects of being a slave – and I can hardly wait!
Mistress wants to make things as nice as possible for her female friend, and as a result I’ve been cleaning up the place since yesterday morning. We’re also moving to Longmont soon, and so we’re starting to prepare for that. Mistress isn’t the most thrilled with where we live now – a large trailer home in Frederick, a small farming town a good half hour from any type of city life – and she thinks we’d be much better off in the city. I like Longmont a lot, too, as it’s large enough to be complete in what it offers but it’s small enough to retain a beauty untarnished by urban sprawl. Mistress’s Master lives in Longmont, which she sees as an immediate advantage, but she’s repeatedly told me she doesn’t expect their relationship to last forever for a variety of reasons. She hasn’t explained the reasons in details, but it seems to be that his shallowness might be a large part of it.
My life continues to be almost non-stop busy. If I’m not doing the daily chores (laundry, dishes, etc.) I’m picking up in preparation for the move or I’m studying for potential employment. FYI, I got a computer science degree after high school because, after floundering around for years in college without having a clear goal, I decided I wanted to be a computer animator, and I mistakenly got a B.S. instead of getting a degree in graphical design, which is really what I needed to get into computer animation. To be honest, my parents would have refused, just like they did when I told them I hated engineering and I wanted to be an artist or a writer. My parents, who have both been dead for more than 10 years, controlled me like a puppeteer handles a marionette ever since I was a young girl, all the way into college. After a couple of unhappy years in computers I paid for my own way to get a second degree, this time in journalism, and I have about a decade of experience as a newspaper journalist as a result. After having children I returned to being a software developer, which I did for eight years until getting laid off more than a year ago. Getting the axe right at the start of the depression didn’t help things, but it seems the recession is finally over, and next week I have a job interview at a very established software company. I’m hedging my bet a bit by studying to be a copywriter, a new career that I hope will tide me over after my unemployment runs out in November. I took a class recently by a professional copywriter who said my journalism and technical experience together should make me a shoe-in to find companies wanting my services. We’ll see.
And there’s also my novel I need to finish. I got three-fourths of the way done with it and then stopped to take a break in the spring of last year. Fortunately, the novel will practically write itself to finish up, as I have an outline prepared and everything is in place to complete things. I just need to find the time and, more importantly, the drive.
The male submissive came over last night and took me to The Sanctuary, a professional BDSM hangout (dungeon) in Denver. I’m beginning to think he really is slave hearted, but he’s just forceful, in that he loves serving so much he practically demands that people allow him to serve. We met with the Master I talked about in a previous post, and things got a little weird for awhile. On the drive to the dungeon, I started feeling rather spacey, and fell asleep briefly. When I awoke, I felt almost feral, and I could strongly sense my wolf side. I didn’t feel submissive at all, and in fact felt a bit dominant toward the male submissive (who I’ll call “Ed” from now on). Okay, I felt very dominant toward him. Or maybe I was just annoyed at him. I’ll admit it – I have a prejudice against male submissives, especially male slaves. To me, that’s just not natural, and I tend not to like them. It’s a bias that I should overcome, but it still comes out. But that still doesn’t explain last night. Something was going on chemically, so I assume my hormones were out of whack last night. Or something. So, anyway, last night I decided to start ordering Ed around for awhile, and I was treating him like he was just property and I was to be obeyed without question. My orders were initially for things such as getting me food or coffee, but later I commanded him to get on a St. Andrew’s cross for flogging. The Master (who I’ll call “George”) found my behavior quite amusing, as did another live-in slave I met that night, but they both attributed it to the fact that I had earlier in the night talked about how I have sometimes online role-played being a dominant just to pleasure somebody who wanted to be bossed around. And, to be honest, Ed was loving every minute of it, judging from his reaction.
After Ed stripped off his clothes and got on the cross, Master George proceeded to teach me about how to safely and effectively flog somebody, and he brought out a very large selection of floggers made from everything from deer skin (which is extremely soft and causes almost no pain) to those made of caribou to those made of rope with sharply pointed barbed ends (ouch!). Not only did he demonstrate all of them on Edward, but he taught me to use them as well, and within an hour I was striking figure eight patterns up and down Edward’s back, buttocks and thighs. About halfway through, though, whatever was going on in my head faded away and I returned to normal, and I started feeling rather awkward doing what I was doing. I told nobody this and kept going because not only was it a rare educational experience, but especially because Edward (who is a masochist) clearly wanted me to continue. Also, Master George was telling me I was a very quick learner, and he also clearly was enjoying teaching me the new skill.
The image that kept going through my mind was from SecondLife of all things, back to a time in Treve when I was the Headmistress of the local kajira academy and I was whipping a disobedient slave girl. But fortunately such thoughts were only fleeting, and the reality of what was happening stuck in my mind much more deeply.
This morning it was revealed that my strikes against Edward cut through his skin, leaving several rakes of bloody welts below his shoulders. To him, not only were they a mark of pride, but he now seems to see me as somebody he wants to obey. After Mistress woke me this morning, she said Ed and she had talked, and from now on I am considered first girl of the household, and Ed is to be subservient to me at all times, to the point that he is to call me “Ma’am” or “Mistress.” I’ve been first girl enough times in SecondLife to be used to the idea, but it still came as a surprise that I’m still getting adjusted to.
Master George, by the way, seems rather enamored of me now. After the flogging session, he had me sit at his feet for hours while we talked about life, slavery, BDSM and the such. Okay, I’ll say it … I love him, and I think he loves me. But I also love my Mistress, of course, very much, and he loves his wife, of course, very much. What I feel for him is what a slave feels for a Master she adores, and I think the feeling from him is that in reverse. The good thing is Mistress really likes him, trusts him and deeply respects him, so much that she has said I am to treat him as a Master in all ways, and I have full permission to “play” with him and do whatever he commands in all respects. He is, naturally, quite happy to know that, and he wants to do things with Mistress and me on a regular basis – which thrills me to no end, not just because I’m nuts about him, but because he is extremely knowledgeable in so many ways. For example, he told me last night about a monthly high-protocol dinner held at the Sanctuary, and today he wrote me saying he wants Mistress and me to go so much that he’s willing to pay our admission costs and teach Mistress about the expected protocol ahead of time. I love protocol and ritual – it’s one of my favorite aspects of being a slave – and I can hardly wait!
Thursday, September 10, 2009
The Life of a Slave - Day 9
I’m a slave.
*breathes deeply and smiles gently*
Yes, yet another posting regarding semantics. But this one … is important.
Last night I officially, formally, finally submitted to my Mistress. I offered my life to her, and begged her to take me as her slave.
And she accepted very happily.
I felt like the collar around my neck became locked into my heart. We’re committed now.
The submission came after a several-hour conversation with a very wise Master, whom Mistress and I visited last night. He is extremely well experienced in the lifestyle and has become one of the most respected Masters in the Denver area. Nearly 70 years old, he has seen and done much in life, and is wise in ways outside of the community as well. He is kind and gentle but very strong in his inner confidence.
We went over last night to play with him, but it turned out that we talked the entire time instead, and I think we’re all very glad we did.
It’s impossible to encapsulate all that we discussed, even though I wish I could. However, one thing he said needs to be made clear is that the word “slave” as used by the lifestyle doesn’t have any exact linguistic match outside of the BDSM community. “Bondservant” is, he said, a good way of trying to explain the idea of a “consensual slave” to somebody outside the community. And even in the community, the idea of a “slave” doesn’t always have the same meaning, particularly between subcultures … particularly when used by a group such as the Goreans compared to those who engage in more general BDSM activities.
In May of 2008, I was collared (enslaved) by another woman in my Panther Girl tribe. I had avoided a collar for a very long time, but she said she felt I needed it based on my outward expressions of having a submissive heart. It practically tore the tribe apart, because I was one of the most active Panther Girls there, and many saw the other woman’s actions as treacherous. Yet, after a couple of days, the other women started realizing that the woman who collared me was right … and that I truly was a slave at heart.
Something incredible happened to me during that time that made me realize my true nature without a doubt. I experienced the true bliss of being a slave. An undeniable high that came from serving.
I also came up with several theories regarding slavery which have stood the test of time. One is that there are four levels of being a slave. (1) Being forced to serve. (2) Serving because it’s the correct thing to do. (3) Serving because you want to. (4) Serving because that is what you exist to do. When a slave reaches the fourth level, they reach a state where they feel like they have become “service.” No longer do they just love their Owners, but they have become “love” itself. The ideas of love and service become inseparable and infused into the slaver’s essence and heart.
I’ve experienced all four levels. It was when I had experienced the fourth level that I realized I had crossed the threshold of no turning back, and I knew what my life’s true path was.
The Master last night said something that made me think of that list of four levels, which had been so important to me last year but had since become forgotten. The Master defined what he considered the difference between a submissive and a slave. A submissive, he said, serves (obeys) because they feel emotionally they have to, even if they don’t want to. A slave, however, will constantly find ways to serve because it’s at the core of who they truly are. A sub does what they’re told, but a slave seeks to find ways to serve even without being told. They feel they exist to serve.
Mistress and I both agreed afterward that the Master’s description fit me extremely well.
A Master doesn’t have to control all of a slave’s life, the Master said. On the contrary, most Masters have no desire to micromanage their property. They control the important things but let the slave handle aspects that would be a chore to manage. Also, he said, an ethical Master would not control aspects of a slave’s life that would be best left to the slave, such as how they raise their children. Many Masters have no desire to handle a slave’s finances, he said, nor do they want to legally own a slave’s property.
A Master is somebody who owns a slave, he said, and the details of that Ownership are left up to the people involved.
And I looked at Mistress and asked her, “Knowing all that, do you want to own this girl as your slave?”
And she looked me in the eyes and softly responded, “Yes, I would. I love you, girl.”
I was already kneeling at her feet, and I moved even closer to her and submitted to her, with the Master as a witness. I don’t remember the words. I just remember how wonderful and beautiful and perfect it felt.
And how I felt that the trial period was over, and it was all very real now.
I had been considering some jobs that would force me to leave her. Now I’m part of her household in a way that can’t be broken. I’m with her, no matter what. Period.
And I woke up today realizing that finally it had all come true. I’m an owned slave, and my Owner is an incredible, loving woman who understands and appreciates me.
It’s a very good day. It’s busy. It’s normal in many ways. But it’s very good.
*breathes deeply and smiles gently*
Yes, yet another posting regarding semantics. But this one … is important.
Last night I officially, formally, finally submitted to my Mistress. I offered my life to her, and begged her to take me as her slave.
And she accepted very happily.
I felt like the collar around my neck became locked into my heart. We’re committed now.
The submission came after a several-hour conversation with a very wise Master, whom Mistress and I visited last night. He is extremely well experienced in the lifestyle and has become one of the most respected Masters in the Denver area. Nearly 70 years old, he has seen and done much in life, and is wise in ways outside of the community as well. He is kind and gentle but very strong in his inner confidence.
We went over last night to play with him, but it turned out that we talked the entire time instead, and I think we’re all very glad we did.
It’s impossible to encapsulate all that we discussed, even though I wish I could. However, one thing he said needs to be made clear is that the word “slave” as used by the lifestyle doesn’t have any exact linguistic match outside of the BDSM community. “Bondservant” is, he said, a good way of trying to explain the idea of a “consensual slave” to somebody outside the community. And even in the community, the idea of a “slave” doesn’t always have the same meaning, particularly between subcultures … particularly when used by a group such as the Goreans compared to those who engage in more general BDSM activities.
In May of 2008, I was collared (enslaved) by another woman in my Panther Girl tribe. I had avoided a collar for a very long time, but she said she felt I needed it based on my outward expressions of having a submissive heart. It practically tore the tribe apart, because I was one of the most active Panther Girls there, and many saw the other woman’s actions as treacherous. Yet, after a couple of days, the other women started realizing that the woman who collared me was right … and that I truly was a slave at heart.
Something incredible happened to me during that time that made me realize my true nature without a doubt. I experienced the true bliss of being a slave. An undeniable high that came from serving.
I also came up with several theories regarding slavery which have stood the test of time. One is that there are four levels of being a slave. (1) Being forced to serve. (2) Serving because it’s the correct thing to do. (3) Serving because you want to. (4) Serving because that is what you exist to do. When a slave reaches the fourth level, they reach a state where they feel like they have become “service.” No longer do they just love their Owners, but they have become “love” itself. The ideas of love and service become inseparable and infused into the slaver’s essence and heart.
I’ve experienced all four levels. It was when I had experienced the fourth level that I realized I had crossed the threshold of no turning back, and I knew what my life’s true path was.
The Master last night said something that made me think of that list of four levels, which had been so important to me last year but had since become forgotten. The Master defined what he considered the difference between a submissive and a slave. A submissive, he said, serves (obeys) because they feel emotionally they have to, even if they don’t want to. A slave, however, will constantly find ways to serve because it’s at the core of who they truly are. A sub does what they’re told, but a slave seeks to find ways to serve even without being told. They feel they exist to serve.
Mistress and I both agreed afterward that the Master’s description fit me extremely well.
A Master doesn’t have to control all of a slave’s life, the Master said. On the contrary, most Masters have no desire to micromanage their property. They control the important things but let the slave handle aspects that would be a chore to manage. Also, he said, an ethical Master would not control aspects of a slave’s life that would be best left to the slave, such as how they raise their children. Many Masters have no desire to handle a slave’s finances, he said, nor do they want to legally own a slave’s property.
A Master is somebody who owns a slave, he said, and the details of that Ownership are left up to the people involved.
And I looked at Mistress and asked her, “Knowing all that, do you want to own this girl as your slave?”
And she looked me in the eyes and softly responded, “Yes, I would. I love you, girl.”
I was already kneeling at her feet, and I moved even closer to her and submitted to her, with the Master as a witness. I don’t remember the words. I just remember how wonderful and beautiful and perfect it felt.
And how I felt that the trial period was over, and it was all very real now.
I had been considering some jobs that would force me to leave her. Now I’m part of her household in a way that can’t be broken. I’m with her, no matter what. Period.
And I woke up today realizing that finally it had all come true. I’m an owned slave, and my Owner is an incredible, loving woman who understands and appreciates me.
It’s a very good day. It’s busy. It’s normal in many ways. But it’s very good.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
The Life of a Bondwoman - Day 8
A man I know -- the quasi-submissive who used me the other day -- is apparently quite smitten by me, and he's written me two good-sized e-mails.
We had talked about the whole idea of "consensual slavery" being a myth, and he is defending the stance that it can be a reality. He said he seeks a full-time total-power-exchange relationship ... basically, a slave relationship ... but only to a Mistress who meets his ideals.
His letter got my head churning again on the idea. Is "consensual slavery" possible?
Would I want to be a consensual slave?
The problem is, so far, I haven't found anybody who wants to own me as a slave who I would trust (and desire) to own me as a slave. The people (i.e., the men) who want to fully own me in every way have, in my experience, always been sadistic jerks who expect me to sign over my life to them within five minutes of our first meeting.
To be continued ...
We had talked about the whole idea of "consensual slavery" being a myth, and he is defending the stance that it can be a reality. He said he seeks a full-time total-power-exchange relationship ... basically, a slave relationship ... but only to a Mistress who meets his ideals.
His letter got my head churning again on the idea. Is "consensual slavery" possible?
Would I want to be a consensual slave?
The problem is, so far, I haven't found anybody who wants to own me as a slave who I would trust (and desire) to own me as a slave. The people (i.e., the men) who want to fully own me in every way have, in my experience, always been sadistic jerks who expect me to sign over my life to them within five minutes of our first meeting.
To be continued ...
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
The Life of a Bondwoman - Day 7
Bondwoman.
Mistress and I talked some more about it, and that's what we determined I am.
"Servant" was troubling me because it is too general, I thought. But Mistress strongly feels "slave" isn't right. And we looked around and found that there is, indeed, something in between. "Bondwoman": a woman bound (by contract or honor, for example) to serve without wages.
Yeah, I know I might be fixated on semantics regarding this. Looking at the big picture, it doesn't really make any difference what I'm called.
But for me, for this all to be true and real and meaningful, I want to separate everything from roleplaying.
Mistress said it before, and the more I think about it, the more I agree with her -- calling yourself a consensual "slave" is roleplaying. It's putting yourself into a box that isn't truly realistic, somewhat like people who are obsessed with Star Trek's Klingon's saying they're "consensual Klingons" because they hold tightly to the Klingon ideas of honor, family pride and such.
Saying to yourself that you're a slave brings a lot of connotations that aren't real, and can become a crutch.
I don't want crutches anymore. I want to be real in what I am.
And a bondwoman is it.
It is exactly what I am. And I take joy in it.
During the last week I've been talking with a woman online who is curious about SecondLife and Gor.
SecondLife, by the way, is an online virtual reality. As opposed to online "games" such as World of Warcraft or Everquest, SecondLife has no defined goal or set of quests. Instead, everything in it is created by the people who use SecondLife.
It is often said that SecondLife wouldn't have survived the six years since it was released if not for two groups of users: the furries (people who are fascinated with anthromorphic animals) and the Goreans. I have heard there are hundreds of Gorean "sims," which are land parcels dedicated to a particular theme. And all of them potentially work together to create a massive online simulation of Gor.
At first, I told the woman to just be careful regarding Gor. But the more she and I have talked, the more I've become discouraging of her involvement. She's recently come to agree with me. So has Mistress, as you'll see below. She wants me to get Gor out of my system because it's so polarized. Everything is black and white, with the grey aspects removed from the philosophy altogether, like "newspeak" from the novel 1984. You're either free or slave. And if you're a woman, you're naturally submissive, so all women should be made into slaves. Not exactly a pleasant set of ideas.
Here's what I wrote in my last letter to the woman after she inquired about several issues, including whether there are still slaves in the real world:
My friend,
Forget about SecondLife for a moment. Forget about Gor.
There really are places in the world where there are slaves.
As sick as the thought may be, Gor exists in a fashion on Earth today. Every day, women are kidnapped and forced into horrible lives of sexual slavery.
Maybe I shouldn't have encouraged you to experiment with Gor. Truly, the Gor of the books is a horrible place in almost every way. Fortunately, SecondLife Gor is much nicer. Well, sometimes it is.
I have a slave/servant/ submissive heart. And I am not ashamed of it.
BUT ...
I find the idea of non-consensual slavery to be so reprehensible it defies words.
And the Gorean books make light of that. Non-consensual slavery is not just accepted in the Gorean philosophy, it is encouraged.
Here is a true story for you. A former potential Master of mine had two friends in real life who were married. They vacationed in Dubai a few years ago. They left the city and visited a public market. The husband was 10 meters away from his wife and looked around and she was gone. He hired detectives and got the police involved, but to no avail. It turned out she was captured and sold as a slave, for sex and for anything else her buyers would desire.
Just like in Gor.
Here's another true story. A different Master I care for and highly respect told me he got into a public argument with his wife in a seedy bar while they were in Canada a couple of decades ago. While they were still in the bar, a man approached the Master I know and offered him $30,000 for his wife to take her off his hands. He, of course, did not take the offer. Later, however, he confirmed from reliable sources that the slaver was real, and that, if he had sold his wife, she would have been enslaved for life, most likely in a sex brothel.
Gor is real. And it's happening on Earth.
And yet people applaud and try and live in real life a philosophy based on a series of books in which women are captured and sold and forced to endure horrible lives as sex slaves.
Yes, in the books, some women are happy as slaves. The books try to sugar coat the idea of reducing a woman's life to one of being an object to be bought and sold and used for any purpose, with no will of her own.
But even in the books, especially in the first ones in the series, women openly lament slavery, and wail and cry at the idea of being forced into such a life. Even the Gor books at first admit it's a horrible concept.
And yet the hero of the books openly says over and over and over again that forced slavery of women is a good thing, and all women are a slave at heart.
*sighs*
And yet, after writing all that, I admit that even I am drawn to Gor. Why? Because it's a place to live out our deepest, darkest fantasies. To come face to face with a terror that lies in the heart of almost any woman.
My real-life Mistress and I talked tonight more about the idea of consensual slavery. She said she doesn't want me to think of myself as a slave because, simply put, I'm not one, and the idea is repulsive to her.
I am, to be precise, a bondwoman. I have agreed to serve my Mistress without payment.
I take pride in being the best servant I can be.
But she's right. Being a slave is a sickening idea.
Mistress tonight officially forbade me from returning to SecondLife Gor. Nor can I read any more Gorean books, nor visit people I know who practice the Gorean lifestyle. Mistress said she is determined to pull me once and for all away from Gor for my own good, so if you see me in SecondLife anytime soon, it'll be in Tombstone.
My Mistress said she doesn't own me and doesn't want to. She is happy to control my actions in her household. But she said she doesn't want to control my life. She wants me to be the best woman I can be. Not a slave, but a free woman who willingly gives of myself in service to her.
I was trained by my parents to be a very submissive housewife, and I'm fulfilling my training by living with my Mistress as her bondwoman. I trust her. I love her. And, so far, I'm happy with her, and she is happy with me.
In response to your question, "playing" with another person means sexual activities, usually of the BDSM variety. To be honest, I'm a normal woman. I've had some wild times and done some things for the sake of excitement, but now that I've found my Mistress I'm for the most part perfectly happy being just with her. She protects me by having to approve who I get to spend time with, and for that I'm very glad.
Could I be auctioned off? If I was really into being a slave, I could be. I've known women who have allowed themselves to be sold or given away to a different Master. To be honest, though, such transfers of ownership are usually arranged at the request of the slave after she finds a different Owner she desires to be with. However, some consensual slaves in my area are so deeply immersed in their role that their Master could choose to sell them to somebody else, and they would go along with it. One woman I know was going to allow herself to be given by her Master to a man she didn't like and didn't want to serve in a different part of the country simply because she was so dedicated to the concept of being a slave that she would have let it happen to her. Fortunately, they came to an agreement and she is still with him. Again, however, the key word is "consensual. " She would have allowed it. Nobody pounces on anybody in our country and forces them to be a slave. Well, not legally. I've heard it sometimes happens even in our country. But then, so does rape and murder. All the time. It's a risk that's part of being a woman. Heck, it's part of being human, male or female. It's part of life.
You don't need any money, either Lindens or RL cash, to be a Mistress or Master in SL. All you need is confidence. There are lots of people who like to pretend they're dominant in SL. And there are a lot of people who like to pretend they have a slave heart in SL. But the true Owners ... and the true slaves ... are few and far between. Those that are true to their roles can fulfill their duties without any cash at all.
And, yes, the African-American slave. I was reading to my daughter two days ago about Hariett Tubman, and it sent a chill in my heart to think about how I like to call myself a "slave," and how that contrasts with the reality that black people in our country had to face less than 200 years ago. I felt, to be honest, a bit ashamed at myself for taking the word "slave" a bit too lightly. But that's the nature of our rich, sheltered society, it seems. You can take any horror of reality and make a game about it.
I really can't explain truly how somebody can make somebody their slave and do it in a kind way. To be honest, I've never seen it done, if you take the idea of slavery to it's full extent. Some women give up all of their freedoms, signing over full power of attorney, in an attempt to be as much of a slave as possible. But in every case of that I know of, the person who owns them is a royal asshole who treats them horribly. Some people would say that's a "healthy" consensual sadomasochistic relationship. I, however, think both sides in such a relationship are a bit mentally unbalanced. But who am I, in my situation, to judge? I serve a woman as an unpaid servant, catering to her every whim to the point of letting her painfully beat and slap me not just for discipline but simply because she enjoys it. To each their own, I figure.
You're right. Mistress doesn't own me. But I willingly give myself to her, as her bondwoman. And we're both quite happy in the relationship. I pray that you find happiness in your own relationships as well, however they may be structured.
*lets out a long breath*
I hope this wasn't too depressing. This topic has definitely gone in places I didn't plan, and I hope I'm not upsetting anybody by it.
May all who read this go in peace.
-- schatzie
Mistress and I talked some more about it, and that's what we determined I am.
"Servant" was troubling me because it is too general, I thought. But Mistress strongly feels "slave" isn't right. And we looked around and found that there is, indeed, something in between. "Bondwoman": a woman bound (by contract or honor, for example) to serve without wages.
Yeah, I know I might be fixated on semantics regarding this. Looking at the big picture, it doesn't really make any difference what I'm called.
But for me, for this all to be true and real and meaningful, I want to separate everything from roleplaying.
Mistress said it before, and the more I think about it, the more I agree with her -- calling yourself a consensual "slave" is roleplaying. It's putting yourself into a box that isn't truly realistic, somewhat like people who are obsessed with Star Trek's Klingon's saying they're "consensual Klingons" because they hold tightly to the Klingon ideas of honor, family pride and such.
Saying to yourself that you're a slave brings a lot of connotations that aren't real, and can become a crutch.
I don't want crutches anymore. I want to be real in what I am.
And a bondwoman is it.
It is exactly what I am. And I take joy in it.
During the last week I've been talking with a woman online who is curious about SecondLife and Gor.
SecondLife, by the way, is an online virtual reality. As opposed to online "games" such as World of Warcraft or Everquest, SecondLife has no defined goal or set of quests. Instead, everything in it is created by the people who use SecondLife.
It is often said that SecondLife wouldn't have survived the six years since it was released if not for two groups of users: the furries (people who are fascinated with anthromorphic animals) and the Goreans. I have heard there are hundreds of Gorean "sims," which are land parcels dedicated to a particular theme. And all of them potentially work together to create a massive online simulation of Gor.
At first, I told the woman to just be careful regarding Gor. But the more she and I have talked, the more I've become discouraging of her involvement. She's recently come to agree with me. So has Mistress, as you'll see below. She wants me to get Gor out of my system because it's so polarized. Everything is black and white, with the grey aspects removed from the philosophy altogether, like "newspeak" from the novel 1984. You're either free or slave. And if you're a woman, you're naturally submissive, so all women should be made into slaves. Not exactly a pleasant set of ideas.
Here's what I wrote in my last letter to the woman after she inquired about several issues, including whether there are still slaves in the real world:
My friend,
Forget about SecondLife for a moment. Forget about Gor.
There really are places in the world where there are slaves.
As sick as the thought may be, Gor exists in a fashion on Earth today. Every day, women are kidnapped and forced into horrible lives of sexual slavery.
Maybe I shouldn't have encouraged you to experiment with Gor. Truly, the Gor of the books is a horrible place in almost every way. Fortunately, SecondLife Gor is much nicer. Well, sometimes it is.
I have a slave/servant/ submissive heart. And I am not ashamed of it.
BUT ...
I find the idea of non-consensual slavery to be so reprehensible it defies words.
And the Gorean books make light of that. Non-consensual slavery is not just accepted in the Gorean philosophy, it is encouraged.
Here is a true story for you. A former potential Master of mine had two friends in real life who were married. They vacationed in Dubai a few years ago. They left the city and visited a public market. The husband was 10 meters away from his wife and looked around and she was gone. He hired detectives and got the police involved, but to no avail. It turned out she was captured and sold as a slave, for sex and for anything else her buyers would desire.
Just like in Gor.
Here's another true story. A different Master I care for and highly respect told me he got into a public argument with his wife in a seedy bar while they were in Canada a couple of decades ago. While they were still in the bar, a man approached the Master I know and offered him $30,000 for his wife to take her off his hands. He, of course, did not take the offer. Later, however, he confirmed from reliable sources that the slaver was real, and that, if he had sold his wife, she would have been enslaved for life, most likely in a sex brothel.
Gor is real. And it's happening on Earth.
And yet people applaud and try and live in real life a philosophy based on a series of books in which women are captured and sold and forced to endure horrible lives as sex slaves.
Yes, in the books, some women are happy as slaves. The books try to sugar coat the idea of reducing a woman's life to one of being an object to be bought and sold and used for any purpose, with no will of her own.
But even in the books, especially in the first ones in the series, women openly lament slavery, and wail and cry at the idea of being forced into such a life. Even the Gor books at first admit it's a horrible concept.
And yet the hero of the books openly says over and over and over again that forced slavery of women is a good thing, and all women are a slave at heart.
*sighs*
And yet, after writing all that, I admit that even I am drawn to Gor. Why? Because it's a place to live out our deepest, darkest fantasies. To come face to face with a terror that lies in the heart of almost any woman.
My real-life Mistress and I talked tonight more about the idea of consensual slavery. She said she doesn't want me to think of myself as a slave because, simply put, I'm not one, and the idea is repulsive to her.
I am, to be precise, a bondwoman. I have agreed to serve my Mistress without payment.
I take pride in being the best servant I can be.
But she's right. Being a slave is a sickening idea.
Mistress tonight officially forbade me from returning to SecondLife Gor. Nor can I read any more Gorean books, nor visit people I know who practice the Gorean lifestyle. Mistress said she is determined to pull me once and for all away from Gor for my own good, so if you see me in SecondLife anytime soon, it'll be in Tombstone.
My Mistress said she doesn't own me and doesn't want to. She is happy to control my actions in her household. But she said she doesn't want to control my life. She wants me to be the best woman I can be. Not a slave, but a free woman who willingly gives of myself in service to her.
I was trained by my parents to be a very submissive housewife, and I'm fulfilling my training by living with my Mistress as her bondwoman. I trust her. I love her. And, so far, I'm happy with her, and she is happy with me.
In response to your question, "playing" with another person means sexual activities, usually of the BDSM variety. To be honest, I'm a normal woman. I've had some wild times and done some things for the sake of excitement, but now that I've found my Mistress I'm for the most part perfectly happy being just with her. She protects me by having to approve who I get to spend time with, and for that I'm very glad.
Could I be auctioned off? If I was really into being a slave, I could be. I've known women who have allowed themselves to be sold or given away to a different Master. To be honest, though, such transfers of ownership are usually arranged at the request of the slave after she finds a different Owner she desires to be with. However, some consensual slaves in my area are so deeply immersed in their role that their Master could choose to sell them to somebody else, and they would go along with it. One woman I know was going to allow herself to be given by her Master to a man she didn't like and didn't want to serve in a different part of the country simply because she was so dedicated to the concept of being a slave that she would have let it happen to her. Fortunately, they came to an agreement and she is still with him. Again, however, the key word is "consensual. " She would have allowed it. Nobody pounces on anybody in our country and forces them to be a slave. Well, not legally. I've heard it sometimes happens even in our country. But then, so does rape and murder. All the time. It's a risk that's part of being a woman. Heck, it's part of being human, male or female. It's part of life.
You don't need any money, either Lindens or RL cash, to be a Mistress or Master in SL. All you need is confidence. There are lots of people who like to pretend they're dominant in SL. And there are a lot of people who like to pretend they have a slave heart in SL. But the true Owners ... and the true slaves ... are few and far between. Those that are true to their roles can fulfill their duties without any cash at all.
And, yes, the African-American slave. I was reading to my daughter two days ago about Hariett Tubman, and it sent a chill in my heart to think about how I like to call myself a "slave," and how that contrasts with the reality that black people in our country had to face less than 200 years ago. I felt, to be honest, a bit ashamed at myself for taking the word "slave" a bit too lightly. But that's the nature of our rich, sheltered society, it seems. You can take any horror of reality and make a game about it.
I really can't explain truly how somebody can make somebody their slave and do it in a kind way. To be honest, I've never seen it done, if you take the idea of slavery to it's full extent. Some women give up all of their freedoms, signing over full power of attorney, in an attempt to be as much of a slave as possible. But in every case of that I know of, the person who owns them is a royal asshole who treats them horribly. Some people would say that's a "healthy" consensual sadomasochistic relationship. I, however, think both sides in such a relationship are a bit mentally unbalanced. But who am I, in my situation, to judge? I serve a woman as an unpaid servant, catering to her every whim to the point of letting her painfully beat and slap me not just for discipline but simply because she enjoys it. To each their own, I figure.
You're right. Mistress doesn't own me. But I willingly give myself to her, as her bondwoman. And we're both quite happy in the relationship. I pray that you find happiness in your own relationships as well, however they may be structured.
*lets out a long breath*
I hope this wasn't too depressing. This topic has definitely gone in places I didn't plan, and I hope I'm not upsetting anybody by it.
May all who read this go in peace.
-- schatzie
Monday, September 7, 2009
The Life of a Wanna-Be Slave -- Day 6
No postings for three days because, simply put, my life was too busy.
My life. I would like to correct myself and say that my life actually belongs to my Mistress, but she’s adamant regarding her feelings toward me being her servant, not her slave.
Is the idea of being a slave purely roleplaying? After several days of ruminating on the concept, I have to agree that it is. Nonetheless, I’ve found that when I get into what I call a “slave mindset,” in which I allow my self image to become what I consider the self image of an obedient, satisfied slave to be, I find myself to become very relaxed, happy with my life and even childlike with a sense of joy and wonder regarding my chores and the happenings around me. The worries and problems of my life tend to flow away, leaving sometimes a gentle satisfaction in simply doing what needs to be done, sometimes a deep sense of pride in my station, and sometimes even (particularly when there are a great many things that need to be juggled at once) a focused excitement regarding how everything can be done as effectively as possible. In contrast, when I’m not in a slave mode, I tend to be overwhelmed mentally, sometimes to the point of breaking down into tears, when things get too chaotic.
Looking back over what I just wrote, it brings to mind the fact that two previous potential Masters highly recommended I study Buddhist philosophy, and I’m getting the idea that being a joyful slave fits in well with Buddhist teachings. Also of note is the childlike feeling of bliss I feel when I’m deepest into my slave mindset. It’s like being in a dream state, and I literally feel as if I’m experiencing a recreational drug of some type. During discussions regarding consensual slavery, I’ve noticed that slaves tend to seek a return to their childhood. Even slaves who despised their formative years and were abused by their parents still, I’ve noticed, tend to seek out Owners who in many ways treat them as their parents did. I’ve yet to meet a truly dedicated consensual slave who desire sex to be a primary aspect of their duties. Most want to serve around the house while their lives are controlled by their Owner, who takes care of them while being quick to discipline them when they make mistakes or get out of line.
My father was distant from me when I was growing up. It was my Mother who controlled my life. When I was young, my Mother would discipline me by pulling my pants down (often in public or in front of relatives) and whipping my bare buttocks with a switch broken off a tree branch. She turned me into a very meek, very obedient, very controlled girl. I tried to rebel a bit in college, but I was never truly able to. Her training was extremely effective, and to this day I remain mentally molded into being a submissive housewife. The real world scares me to a degree, in that I feel overwhelmed if I don’t have somebody controlling my decisions.
I believe I’ve just stumbled upon the difference between a “servant” and a “consensual slave.” A consensual slave wishes to give up control of their life. A consensual slave sees themselves as inherently lesser to some degree than their Owner. Like the way obedient children views themselves in comparison to their parents or to all adults.
Do I want to be a little girl again? Oh, yes, very, very much. So much I cry about it at times. I’d give up everything to return to being 10 years old.
Am I trying to do that by being a slave? Very possibly I am.
Maybe that’s why I’m sometimes great with my children, but often times I don’t know how to handle them or provide for their needs. I have a seven-year-old daughter and a 10-year-old son. I love them so deeply it defies words. My ex has often said, to our mutual consternation, that I’m really like the third child of the house. And I think my ex is pretty accurate. For one reason or another, I guess I’ve never truly grown up in some ways. I’ve never learned to be independent.
Such is life.
It was being with my children that took up most of my time the last two days. I took my son to a gaming convention all day, where he watched cartoons and played with other kids from late morning until bedtime. The next day I was with my daughter, and we put together a horse puzzle and made a wooden biplane and I taught her about aerodynamics (to a degree … she was soon bored) and played in the backyard with her and went out for donuts. They both live with my ex, who concluded that I wasn’t mentally stable (i.e., mature) enough to take care of the children by myself after our divorce last year. I pretty much gave in to all of my ex’s demands during the divorce, so much that my ex got the house and all of its contents “for the sake of the kids.” Before I moved in with Mistress, the children visited me often, but now I live more than a half hour away, and my ex won’t allow the children to visit my new home because she doesn’t like the idea of the kids being near an unknown adult. So when I see my kids now, I see them at my former home.
Pretty much all of my time with them is play time. Going swimming. Trips to the museum. Making crafts. It’s my ex that handles all the serious duties, like picking them up from school or going with them to their psychiatric appointments. My ex prefers it that way. My ex is probably right, because when I’m around the kids, I pretty much become a kid, too.
But I digress. Time for chores. I need to thoroughly clean up the living room, mop the kitchen floor, buy groceries, pick up a hard drive at the computer store, and make dinner.
One last thing. I may be technically a servant. But it’s the idea of being a slave that brings me true peace.
La kajira.
-- schatzie
My life. I would like to correct myself and say that my life actually belongs to my Mistress, but she’s adamant regarding her feelings toward me being her servant, not her slave.
Is the idea of being a slave purely roleplaying? After several days of ruminating on the concept, I have to agree that it is. Nonetheless, I’ve found that when I get into what I call a “slave mindset,” in which I allow my self image to become what I consider the self image of an obedient, satisfied slave to be, I find myself to become very relaxed, happy with my life and even childlike with a sense of joy and wonder regarding my chores and the happenings around me. The worries and problems of my life tend to flow away, leaving sometimes a gentle satisfaction in simply doing what needs to be done, sometimes a deep sense of pride in my station, and sometimes even (particularly when there are a great many things that need to be juggled at once) a focused excitement regarding how everything can be done as effectively as possible. In contrast, when I’m not in a slave mode, I tend to be overwhelmed mentally, sometimes to the point of breaking down into tears, when things get too chaotic.
Looking back over what I just wrote, it brings to mind the fact that two previous potential Masters highly recommended I study Buddhist philosophy, and I’m getting the idea that being a joyful slave fits in well with Buddhist teachings. Also of note is the childlike feeling of bliss I feel when I’m deepest into my slave mindset. It’s like being in a dream state, and I literally feel as if I’m experiencing a recreational drug of some type. During discussions regarding consensual slavery, I’ve noticed that slaves tend to seek a return to their childhood. Even slaves who despised their formative years and were abused by their parents still, I’ve noticed, tend to seek out Owners who in many ways treat them as their parents did. I’ve yet to meet a truly dedicated consensual slave who desire sex to be a primary aspect of their duties. Most want to serve around the house while their lives are controlled by their Owner, who takes care of them while being quick to discipline them when they make mistakes or get out of line.
My father was distant from me when I was growing up. It was my Mother who controlled my life. When I was young, my Mother would discipline me by pulling my pants down (often in public or in front of relatives) and whipping my bare buttocks with a switch broken off a tree branch. She turned me into a very meek, very obedient, very controlled girl. I tried to rebel a bit in college, but I was never truly able to. Her training was extremely effective, and to this day I remain mentally molded into being a submissive housewife. The real world scares me to a degree, in that I feel overwhelmed if I don’t have somebody controlling my decisions.
I believe I’ve just stumbled upon the difference between a “servant” and a “consensual slave.” A consensual slave wishes to give up control of their life. A consensual slave sees themselves as inherently lesser to some degree than their Owner. Like the way obedient children views themselves in comparison to their parents or to all adults.
Do I want to be a little girl again? Oh, yes, very, very much. So much I cry about it at times. I’d give up everything to return to being 10 years old.
Am I trying to do that by being a slave? Very possibly I am.
Maybe that’s why I’m sometimes great with my children, but often times I don’t know how to handle them or provide for their needs. I have a seven-year-old daughter and a 10-year-old son. I love them so deeply it defies words. My ex has often said, to our mutual consternation, that I’m really like the third child of the house. And I think my ex is pretty accurate. For one reason or another, I guess I’ve never truly grown up in some ways. I’ve never learned to be independent.
Such is life.
It was being with my children that took up most of my time the last two days. I took my son to a gaming convention all day, where he watched cartoons and played with other kids from late morning until bedtime. The next day I was with my daughter, and we put together a horse puzzle and made a wooden biplane and I taught her about aerodynamics (to a degree … she was soon bored) and played in the backyard with her and went out for donuts. They both live with my ex, who concluded that I wasn’t mentally stable (i.e., mature) enough to take care of the children by myself after our divorce last year. I pretty much gave in to all of my ex’s demands during the divorce, so much that my ex got the house and all of its contents “for the sake of the kids.” Before I moved in with Mistress, the children visited me often, but now I live more than a half hour away, and my ex won’t allow the children to visit my new home because she doesn’t like the idea of the kids being near an unknown adult. So when I see my kids now, I see them at my former home.
Pretty much all of my time with them is play time. Going swimming. Trips to the museum. Making crafts. It’s my ex that handles all the serious duties, like picking them up from school or going with them to their psychiatric appointments. My ex prefers it that way. My ex is probably right, because when I’m around the kids, I pretty much become a kid, too.
But I digress. Time for chores. I need to thoroughly clean up the living room, mop the kitchen floor, buy groceries, pick up a hard drive at the computer store, and make dinner.
One last thing. I may be technically a servant. But it’s the idea of being a slave that brings me true peace.
La kajira.
-- schatzie
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